


What became of his ancestry

by NinthFeather



Series: What became of his ancestry 'verse [1]
Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Culture Shock, Drama, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Food, Hurt/Comfort, Kazakh Culture, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Meddling, Multiple Personalities, Necessary but hopefully likeable OCs, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinthFeather/pseuds/NinthFeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logically, Allelujah had considered the possibility that there were people out there related to him.  But there was a difference between logic, and two living relatives set to arrive on his doorstep in less than a day because Ms. Sumeragi didn't know when to stop meddling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suyinshi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This fic comes from my headcanon that Allelujah was not a designer baby and was instead one of a number of super-soldiers-to-be taken off the battlefields of the Solar Energy Wars because the Institute wanted children but not a paper trail. This headcanon necessarily leaves room for the possibility of Allelujah having family back in his home country of Kazakhstan who think he was killed during the fighting.
> 
> It also takes no small amount of inspiration from the Family Reconstruction Act concept that was used in all of those GW/HP crossovers—and from [Oedipus Tex’s Hands](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2664123/1/Hands), a deconstruction of some of the ideas in those fics. This story will hit a middle ground, tonally, between those two extremes.
> 
> This is a post-A Wakening of the Trail Blazer fic, with all the spoilers implied. Allelujah and Marie are engaged and living together in Tokyo, in the same building as Saji and Louise, who are also sharing their own apartment. Ms. Sumeragi and Feldt are still working with Celestial Being in space. The main warning is that Allelujah and other characters will be spending large parts of this fic in bad psychological places, including while they’re narrating; if that’s gonna be a problem you know about it now. There will be five story chapters and a short epilogue, all of which are all written already.
> 
> The chapter title is explained in the text; see the end notes for explanations of the fic title and directions on how to get more information about the fic, if you want it.

“Ms. Sumergi, ‘because I told you so’ is not a good reason to hack into a database that is already being made public to everyone who actually has any business knowing what’s in it!” Feldt finally snapped, spinning around in her chair and standing up to face her commanding officer.

Feldt loved Ms. Sumeragi, she really did.  And she was so proud of her for trying to work on her drinking problem, even after she’d been faced with an amount of responsibility Feldt knew she saw as nightmarish.  But she couldn’t help wishing that Ms. Sumeragi would just remember that being part of an official government meant that they couldn’t just break the rules whenever they wanted anymore.

“It’s important?” Ms. Sumeragi tried.

“You said that before you convinced Christina and I to build our own version of Veda…but also before you talked Lichty into making Setsuna a fake ID so he could go to a bar for Lockon’s birthday,” Feldt said, crossing her arms.  “So, which kind of important is this?”

Ms. Sumeragi winced.  “Maybe in the middle?” she said, uncertain, wiggling her hand back and forth.  “I mean, no-one will be in danger if you don’t do it, but—” she broke off, then looked around the room furtively.

“We’re the only ones on shift right now and I’m not expecting visitors,” Feldt said.  “You can talk about whatever it is.”

“It’s the SSI records release,” Ms. Sumeragi said.  “I’d wondered why Allelujah didn’t disagree with it more—I mean, I knew he was totally in agreement with the principal of it; all those families whose kids were abducted during the war have a right to know what happened.  I guess I chalked it up to him still being guilty about what happened with his intervention at the Super Soldier Institute.  But still…I thought he’d be more upset about the idea that he might have random family members coming up out of the woodwork.”

Feldt nodded.  “So, something else was going on?”

“Something else, all right,” Ms. Sumeragi said darkly.  “I talked to Allelujah last night.  Apparently, his records still say that he was disposed of after he was found to be unfit for combat.  That’s why he isn’t worried.”

“He’s going to let his relatives think he’s dead,” Feldt said flatly.

“And I quote, ‘Better than finding out they’re related to a crazy failed experiment who killed thousands of people,’” Ms. Sumeragi said, voice hard.

Feldt sucked in a breath.  “He’s still thinking like that?  I thought, with Marie—”

“She’s good for him, but the SSI release is a nasty reminder of one of his bigger regrets,” Ms. Sumeragi said.  “And it’s one thing to feel okay with what you are and what you’ve done, and another to feel alright with explaining it to a civilian you’ve never met before.  He’s never had a biological family.  He’s probably terrified they’ll reject him.”

“But…he deserves this chance,” Feldt said slowly.  “He’ll never take it, if he has a chance to avoid it…but he has the chance to meet his biological family.”

Ms. Sumeragi smiled at her, her normal mischief tempered with a hint of mournfulness.  “You know he’s my little brother in every way that matters.  But what if he’s got a _real_ big sister or mother out there somewhere, mourning someone who’s alive? Isn’t that worth a little meddling?”

Feldt shook her head.  “You’re his _real_ big sister, too.  You’re the one who was here for him, right?  But you’re right…this deserves some meddling.”  She grinned.  “And some planning, too.  Tell me you have a tactical forecast for this.”

Ms. Sumeragi grinned, and held up a finger.  “This one’s all about controlling the flow of knowledge.  Mostly, the flow of knowledge to Allelujah.  I’ll set up a timetable, but you’re gonna need to do a little recon for me.”

“Recon, really?” Feldt asked, grinning back.

“Nothing major,” Ms. Sumeragi said.  “I just need to be certain about all of the variables…”

“Commencing…” _well, not armed_ , “commencing intervention, then!” Feldt said, cheerily.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The door of the traditional crafts co-op’s workshop swung open, stirring loose a small shower of dust from the lintel.  Arman looked up from the belt he was embroidering and winced at the sight of some of it settling on a stack of cashmere scarves.  He’d have to ask one of the younger girls who were carding wool right now to rinse them out later in the afternoon.

Through the open door came a blast of heat, normal for midsummer in southern Kazakhstan—though, since he’d been born in northern Kazakhstan, which was closer in climate to Siberia than to the rest of Europe, he still found the heat annoying at times.  The heat was followed by the familiar figure of an aging woman with clay-brown skin dressed in an unseasonable long skirt, her brown eyes alight with mischief.

Grinning, his aunt Samal shook out hair as grey and soft-looking as uncarded wool and asked, “What would you give me for a _suyinshi_?”

Immediately, Arman felt the eyes of every other person in the workshop turn on him.  A _suyinshi_ was a gift given for a piece of particularly good news, and that made the conversation interesting for two reasons.  The first was, of course, potential gossip.  The second was the fact that Arman was known as one of the best traditional embroiderers in this part of Kazakhstan.  So a _suyinshi_ from him was likely to be something nice.

Well, he’d been intending it to be a birthday present…but if this was really news _that_ good, it would be worth it.  He reached under a pile of embroidered vests and pulled out a leather handbag decorated with interlaced, swirling lines of primary color.

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow.  The women and men using looms at the back of the shop made a small _ooh_ -ing noise when he asked, “Is it worth this?”

“Absolutely,” she said, without hesitating.

That was about when Arman started to feel nervous.  Aunt Samal may have been a supervisor at a telecom company rather than a craftsperson, but she knew his craft from years watching him practice it under her roof.  If he was the best traditional embroiderer in the area, she was the woman who’d raised him, at least since the Solar Energy Wars took his parents, and she had more than enough knowledge to see that what he was offering her was something he could sell for good money.  It was one thing for him to give it as a gift, but as an exchange…it was a little extravagant.

What was actually this big?  Had one of his foster-brothers gotten engaged, maybe?  Maybe _Aunt Samal_ had gotten engaged, or someone had won money, or inherited money…

He handed her the purse, aware that across the workshop, his co-workers were quietly setting down their shuttles, moving their feet away from the pedals of spinning wheels, tucking their needles into fabric and rolling up their knitting as they strained to listen. 

“What is it?” he asked.

“You should put down your work first,” Aunt Samal said, almost gently.

Arman obeyed automatically, laying on his lap and looking up at her.

“That email we got from the government, last week, it wasn’t right,” Aunt Samal said, and all of the sudden, hope bloomed warm, sharp and painful in Arman’s chest.  “Arystan is alive.”

“He—wha—” Arman managed to choke out before Aunt Samal swept him up into a hug. 

“He’s living in Tokyo with his fiancée, and one of his friends has made travel arrangements for us so we can go meet him,” Aunt Samal continued, voice soft and almost sing-song as she rubbed his back.

The belt he’d been working on was probably on the floor.  It was probably filthy by now because too many people walked through the workroom for even regular sweeping to keep the floor clean.  He’d have to wash that out himself, since it was his own fault for having a breakdown in the middle of the workroom over his lost little brother.

But…he’d spent years thinking that he’d lost Arystan, in the same week that his parents had died, only to find out last week that his baby brother had been stolen by the government and experimented on.  And then killed—no, _disposed of_.

When he’d first come here, Aunt Samal had taken him to therapists, and they’d all told him not to dwell on his experiences during the war too much.  He’d started doing traditional crafts as a hobby to distract him from all of that.  It had become his career when the sheer amount of practice he got using it as a distraction ended up making him unusually good at it.  He’d only really stuck to it as a way of being traditional and Kazakh in the face of the HRL’s, and then the A-Laws’, embrace of all things modern and heterogeneous.

However, they also helped keep him on an even keel…until last week, where, despite having more than enough projects to do, he’d still managed to get thoroughly drunk twice and have four PTSD-fueled nightmares with his imagination’s version of what had happened to Arystan at the Super-Soldier Institute’s hands thrown in for good measure.

So, after all of that, to know that Arystan was alive…that he had a _fiancée_ , and someone else who cared about him enough to pay for his family’s transportation…

He pulled away from Aunt Samal, rubbing at suddenly-damp eyes. “Why didn’t _he_ contact us?”

“The girl who emailed me said that he’s afraid we’ll reject him,” she said, frowning.  “She said he’s been through a lot, and the context of it…I don’t think she just meant what the last email told us about.  For one thing, he might have been in the military at some point.”

So his _baby brother_ hadn’t just been _experimented on_ before somehow escaping death.  More than that had happened to him, including, possibly, fighting in one of the recent wars. 

He swore softly, then said, “So, she made arrangements for you and me?”

“She said that you and I were the closest relatives, and that more people would probably be a little overwhelming,” Aunt Samal said. “But she got us train tickets to the airport, and plane tickets, and even tickets for the bullet train in Tokyo we need to get to their neighborhood.”

“Wow,” Arman said.  “Are his friends rich or something?”

“I think they must know someone who is,” Aunt Samal said.  “Maybe an ally or something.  But, there’s something more important that I need to show you!”

“What?”

“Look at this!” Samal said, taking out her smartphone.  She brushed a finger across the screen, then flicked through a few menus.  Her actions brought up a picture of a tall, muscular man in a fitted shirt, with skin the pale brown of her own and hair that was almost a mahogany shade, with an odd green sheen to it.  His nose and cheekbones were all but identical to Arman’s own.

“Is that…” his voice broke, and he could feel his cheeks burn with shame at the idea that anyone, particularly his coworkers, was seeing him like this.

“He sure grew up handsome,” Aunt Samal observed.  “The girl who emailed me says this picture’s a good two years old, but it’s still quite something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Arman said softly, his vision blurring as he stared at the phone.  Arystan’s eyes were mismatched, one as grey as his own and the other an unnerving golden shade, but they were soft, if a bit tired looking and edged by lines that aged him beyond his— _Allah,_ he would be 24 in this picture and 26 today.

“He calls himself Allelujah now,” Aunt Samal said softly, pulling away the phone.  “I’ll send you the picture.”

“A-le-lu-yaa?” Arman echoed.  Mindful of their audience, he didn’t say, _I guess it’s better than E-0057_ , but he couldn’t quite keep his stomach from twisting at the reminder of how the initial email had referred to his younger sibling.

“It’s a Greek version of a Hebrew word,” Aunt Samal said.  “It means the same thing as _alhamdulillah_.”

Arman wasn’t a very devout Muslim, but he went to mosque occasionally, on the big holidays, and he knew enough to understand that phrase. He couldn’t help wondering how a boy living in the Super-Soldier Institute had ended up with a name with such a meaning, but that was a question to ask his brother, when he met the man.

“Thanks be to God,” he said, grinning, as dozens of questions bubbled up from his co-workers.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Allelujah frowned, adjusted the position of his wrist, and attempted to get his spatula under the omelet sizzling merrily in the middle of the cast iron pan in front of him. He had only lifted it a few inches when it tore.  He swore loudly and flipped the damaged omelet as quickly as he could.

Marie snickered, and he glared at her over his shoulder.  She just looked up at him from her place at the kitchen table, looking innocent. 

“Saji told you to stick to scrambled eggs for now, you know,” she said.

He scowled, and turned back to the range, where the egg was still bubbling and steaming.  “I’m a super-soldier; I should be able to do this much.”

“You’re a super-soldier who’s only had about three cooking lessons,” Marie pointed out.  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

He took a handful of cheese out of a bowl beside the stovetop and sprinkled it on the egg, then folded it over.  “This is a basic life skill.  A simple one.  If I want to live on Earth, I need learn to cook.  You already did it, and you were younger then!”

“That probably made it easier for me,” Marie observed.  “Don’t worry, Alle, you’ll get it, I promise.”

“Easy for you to say,” Allelujah replied, without heat, flipping the omelet.

When it looked finished, he grabbed a plate out of an overhead cupboard, moved the omelet onto it, and then switched off the burner.  Picking up the plate, he walked over to the table and bent down over his fiancée to set down the eggs in front of her.  He grinned at her, then took advantage of his position to give her a quick kiss.

After that, he got his own omelet out of the oven, where he’d left it to warm, and joined Marie at the table.  He stared down at his own breakfast…which was torn in several places, and actually somewhat resembled a yellow version of a blown hydraulic line he’d helped Ian fix once.

“So, do I get a fork today, or are you insisting on chopstick practice?” Marie asked.

“That wasn’t me, that was Saji,” Allelujah said, holding up his hands.  “I was just agreeing with him because…I don’t really know why, actually.”

“Because you’re kind of a pushover when it comes to anything you don’t have strong convictions about,” Marie said, smiling.  “It’s all right, I think it’s cute.”

Allelujah leaned back and reached for a drawer behind him, then grabbed two forks.  “Forks this morning, here you go,” he said, reaching over to hand one to her.

Allelujah’s cell phone, lying forgotten somewhere in the living room, started ringing loudly, startling him badly enough to drop the fork.

“Were you expecting a call?” Marie asked, startled.

“No!” he replied, alarmed.  After the ELF disaster only a few months, they were both rightfully more paranoid, and the list of people who would be calling them was much shorter, what with Setsuna off across the universe, and Saji and Louise in the apartment across the hall.

Allelujah was the first to the phone.  When he picked up, Sumeragi Lee Noriega’s face came into focus in the air above the phone’s screen, which did nothing for Allelujah’s sudden anxiety.

He recalled, suddenly, the call they’d gotten a few days ago, from Feldt, when she’d asked how long they thought they might need to leave their newly-bought apartment in an emergency.  Had they been expecting something else to happen?

“Ms. Sumeragi, what’s happening?” he asked, aware that his nervousness was showing on his face.

He felt Marie’s hand on his shoulder as he stared down on at her image.

“It’s nothing bad, Allelujah,” Ms. Sumeragi said.  “I just wanted to warn you in advance about your guests.”

“What guests?” Allelujah asked sharply.  “Ms. Sumeragi, what did you do?”

Ms. Sumeragi’s expression turned serious.  “I meddled, and if you want to be angry, you have the right, but I don’t regret what I did and I think you’ll thank me eventually.”

“ _What did you do?_ ”

“I contacted the relatives that the SSI records release found for you and asked Marina Ismail to help us pay for them to come to Tokyo,” Ms. Sumeragi said.

“You— _dear God_ , what?” Allelujah barked, feeling his knees go dangerously weak even as his eyes narrowed. 

“Maybe you don’t think you deserve to meet him,” Ms. Sumeragi said, tone hardening.  “But look me in the eye and tell me that your _brother_ deserves to think that you were disposed of by the HRL for being defective when you’re alive and well.”

“My—my _brother_?” Allelujah breathed.  He felt Marie’s hand grip his shoulder.

“His name is Arman, and he’s 29 years old,” Ms. Sumeragi said.  “You were separated from him and your parents during the chaos of the Solar Energy Wars in Kazakhstan—”

“I’m from Kazakhstan?” Allelujah whispered, wondering, sitting down slowly as Ms. Sumeragi continued.  He felt the couch sink under him as Marie settled beside him.

“—And when he survived the conflict, he was sent to live with your aunt, Samal, who lived in the south and is the other person you’ll be meeting this evening,” Ms. Sumeragi finished.

“Sent to live with—then, my parents are…” Allelujah trailed off.

In the projected image, Ms. Sumeragi closed her eyes, pained.  “I’m sorry.”

Allelujah felt more numb than anything at the revelation.  It was difficult to grieve people he’d never known…and honestly, there was a shameful part of himself that was deeply relieved at not having to explain what he’d done with his life, or what had been done to him, to his mother and father.

“ _This_ evening?” Marie asked sharply, her tone closer to Soma’s than usual.

Ms. Sumeragi laughed nervously.  “Maybe I should call back later….” she said.

“Wait!” Allelujah said.  “What time?  What are their surnames?  Do they know how to get here?  What do they even _look like_?”

“Approxiamately five p.m., Temirovich Aliyev and Kanatevna Karimov respectively, yes, and you’ll just have to wait and see,” Ms. Sumeragi said, a smug smile on her lips.

“Ms. Sumeragi, you can’t just—I don’t want to—I told you I didn’t want them to know about me!” Allelujah protested.

“They’re your family, and you have a chance to meet them,” Ms. Sumeragi said firmly.  “If it goes badly, you never have to see them again.  But at least you’ll have tried.”

“You need to stop forcing my fiancée into things,” Marie said quietly.

“Yes, it’s going to be your job, soon; you should start doing it,” Ms. Sumeragi said blithely.  “Now, I’m about to go on shift, so I have to end the call.  Please let me know how it goes.”

The hologram winked out of existence.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Saji had never really had much endurance—not in battle, and certainly not when it came to romantic comedies.  He was thrilled that Louise was finally home to watch one again, and that it could even make her smile occasionally…but _wow,_ it was boring.  Not exactly his idea of how he wanted to spend a day off.  Louise’s latest actor-crush, a Union-born brunette who vaguely reminded Saji of Lasse Aion, had just stormed out of his female-love-interest’s apartment after a completely avoidable argument, and Saji was beginning to pity him and his delusion that he could actually escape.

But then, there was the part that made it nearly worth it.  Louise snuggled up against him, her hair slightly scratchy against his cheek as she nestled her head between his neck and shoulder.  Even after switching through three shampoo brands, it was still constantly dried-out, a side-effect of one of the medications her doctors still had her on.  But she was here, a reassuring, if slightly heavy, weight pressing down on his left thigh.

Which was rapidly going numb.  Joy.  He didn’t _want_ her to move, but the pins and needles were going to _hurt_ , and he was, as Louise liked to remind him, “Still as much of a wuss as ever even if you did pilot a Gundam for a while.”

Not-Lasse-the-actor was…why was he at a baseball game? Whatever, who cared, he was saying something and Louise was perking up in interest, which meant that Saji needed to pay attention.

Of course, that was when someone knocked on the door.

Louise groaned softly in annoyance and turned her face into his shoulder.  “Don’t answer it,” she whispered into his sweater.

“What if it’s important?” Saji argued, gently pulling away from her and getting up.

He walked back to the entryway, the plush carpeting of their small apartment pliant and cushiony under his stocking feet.  The photos hanging on the wall on the wall registered in his peripheral vision even as the knocking continued and he walked faster.

When he finally opened the door, he tried very hard not to panic. 

Allelujah was standing there, every muscle in his body tensed.   He was sniffling slightly, and his cheeks were a raw red to match his bloodshot, wet eyes.  His hair was disheveled, and the hand that was even now carding through it gave Saji a clue as to why.  The last time he’d seen Allelujah Haptism looking this rough, he’d been fresh out of four years of A-Law prison and an unexpected encounter with his long-lost love.  Speaking of her, Marie stood a half-step behind him, a hand clasped around his arm with a grip that seemed equally intended to comfort and to prevent him from running.  She looked more put together, but there was a noticeable dark spot coloring the front of her silk peasant blouse.  And, given that the two of them were here, in the middle of the day…

“What happened?” Saji asked, already mentally running through what they’d need to pack if they had to leave in a hurry.  They’d done laundry yesterday, thank heaven, and he’d recently withdrawn a decent amount of money so that he and Louise could go on a day trip to a rural farmers’ market—

“God help me, you’re thinking of what you’ll need to bring if I’m here to tell you we have to leave, aren’t you?” Allelujah said, voice rising hysterically.  “You’re supposed to be the _civilian_.  They’re going to run away screaming, I know they are.”

“They?” Saji repeated.  “Allelu—” He broke off, after seeing the blank, panicked look on the other man’s face.  “Marie.  What happened?”

“Allelujah has something he’d like to ask you about,” Marie said, gently nudging her fiancé’s arm. 

Allelujah practically jumped, then said, “U-uh, yeah.  Saji, will you help me make dinner?”

Saji blinked.  “Excuse me, what?”

“Whaddya need his help with dinner for?” Louise asked.  Saji startled slightly—between the military training and the fuzzy socks she’d bought last week, his girlfriend was _stealthy_.  He hadn’t even heard her come up behind him.

“We have unexpected company,” Allelujah said, rubbing at his eyes.  “I want to make them food. Not just omelets, good food.”

“Is someone from Celestial Being—” Saji asked. 

“No,” Allelujah said.

“Then, who?” Louise asked, sounding so much like her nosy high school self it almost hurt.  “You two don’t get out much, and I can’t think of anyone from the A-Laws who would visit _unexpectedly_.”

“Colasour,” Marie said, drawing out the word like a curse.

“True,” Louise said, faintly amused. “But Commander Mannequin-Colasour wouldn’t let him.”

“Also true,” Marie said, inclining her head slightly.

“It’s family,” Allelujah whispered, his voice strained.

Saji let his jaw hang.  “Family?” he asked. _Who? Marie’s adoptive family, even that Andrei jerk, are dead.  And Allelujah’s told me he has no idea who his even—_

“My brother, and my aunt,” Allelujah said, eyes unfocused.  “This doesn’t even seem real.  Marie, are you _sure_ …”

Marie looked at him, eyebrows drawn together and lips pursed so tightly that they were paler than her hair.  She took a breath.  “It’s not Hallelujah.  Or a dream. This is real.”

“You found them?” Saji asked.

“Ms. Sumeragi found them and then invited them to our house _without telling us_ ,” Allelujah said, his voice deepening to a growl as he spoke.  “I swear, I’m going to—”

“Hallelujah, not helping!” Marie snapped.  “He already thinks he’s hallucinating—”

Allelujah—no, Hallelujah—snickered.

“—and I promise you _will_ get to meet them, eventually,” Marie said. “Unless they really can’t handle Alle, in which case they _absolutely_ won’t be ready for you.”

“Fine,” Hallelujah muttered.

And just like that, Allelujah was back, blinking, disoriented, and steadying himself against their doorway.

Saji glanced backward at Louise, who in turn cast a mournful glance at her interrupted movie before nodding.

“Why don’t you two come in?” Saji asked.

“Thank you,” Marie said, wrapping a careful hand around her boyfriend’s waist even as he started panicking.

“Oh God, Hallelujah got out again, I am _so_ sorry,” Allelujah babbled, frantic.  “That was—it really wasn’t more than a few moments, was it?  It only _felt_ like a few moments but sometimes it gets confusing…”

“Only a few seconds,” Marie said softly, leading him over to the couch.  “He came out with your anger and left when I told him to.”

“Thank God,” Allelujah said.  “Saji, I’m so sorry to ask you about this, but I really want to do something, and they’re supposed to be here by _five_ , that’s not enough time to hire a caterer, even…”

“So, wait, seriously, let me get this straight,” Saji said, sitting down next to them.  “Ms. Sumeragi found your aunt and your brother, who you’ve never met, and invited them to your apartment without telling you?  And they’re coming tonight?”

“That’s right,” Allelujah said blankly.  “My brother’s name is Arman.  He’s older than me.”

Louise cursed under her breath as she settled in next to Saji.  “Is that why you look like a mess?”

“Y-yeah,” Allelujah said.  “Marie had to calm me down.  A lot.”

Now that he was seated, some of the tension had bled out of his posture, and he just looked exhausted. Carefully, Saji reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll help you make dinner,” he said, smiling.  “It’ll be amazing.  They’ll love it.”

Allelujah smiled back weakly.  “Yeah, I bet they will,” he said.  “I just wish I was sure that they were going to like _me_.”

“They will, Alle,” Marie said, voice worn thin. 

“You don’t know—” Allelujah said.

“Would it help to have more people there?” Louise asked.

Allelujah tilted his head to one side, thoughtful.  “Maybe, yeah.”

Saji removed his hand from Allelujah’s shoulder, and turned to glance at Louise.  She avoided his eyes.  _She misses this sort of thing,_ he realized.  _She doesn’t have family anymore, and neither do I…and it might help Allelujah, too…_

“It might be nice to have us there, at least for a while,” Saji suggested.  “Y’know, as a kind of buffer?”

Allelujah nodded, decisive.  “Yeah,” he said.  “You should come.”

Saji took a deep breath.  “Okay, well, then, we should get some food together.  Do you think they’ll like Japanese food or Spanish food better?”

“I don’t know?” Allelujah said.  “There’s practically _nothing_ on the internet about what people eat in Kazakhstan …”

“Kazakhstan?” Saji asked.

“Uh, it’s where my family is from,” Allelujah said, looking a bit overwhelmed.  “Where I’m from, I guess.  All I really know is that they eat bread there.”

“That’s not much,” Louise observed.

Saji was quiet for a few moments.  “We’re in Japan; I’ll make Japanese food,” he said.  “If they don’t like it, we’ll figure something out later on.”

“O-okay,” Allelujah said softly.

Saji looked at him carefully.  He still looked exhausted…and Louise still looked put out about missing the end of her movie.

“Marie and I will go shopping for ingredients,” he said. “You and Louise can start the rice and finish up the movie.”

Allelujah stared up at him, his terrified expression amusing on the face of a person who had defeated armies of mobile suits singlehandedly.  “I don’t know how to make rice,” he said.   “We haven’t _gotten_ to that.”

 _He definitely needs to sit down and watch the movie with Louise_ , Saji thought.  _Even if his relatives are really nice, he’ll never make a good impression on them if he’s this tightly wound._

Aloud, Saji laughed softly.  “All right, I’ll show you how to start the rice, and _then_ , we’ll go shopping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic title is pulled from the Kazakh proverb “He is a fool who has forgotten what became of his ancestry seven generations before him and who does not care what will become of his progeny seven generations after him.” (source: [Kazakhstan: Unfulfilled Promise](https://books.google.com/books?id=8Tom2gU6rzIC&pg=PA184&lpg=PA184&dq=kazakh+proverb+family&source=bl&ots=2v65gFBOM-&sig=P2MsWL9ikehLmIhBRfZUqAO4FAM&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiD-aqG98_KAhWGPD4KHbLdA-0Q6AEIQzAG#v=onepage&q=kazakh%20proverb%20family&f=false) by Martha Brill Olcott)
> 
> I posted [some meta about how I approach writing Hallelujah and Allelujah](http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com/post/138350959415/this-is-just-a-rambling-summary-of-my-headcanons) on Tumblr, so read it if you're curious, since this is the longest fic with those two I've ever written. All stuff related to this fic will be under the Tumblr tag ["what became of his ancestry"](http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com/tagged/what-became-of-his-ancestry/chrono) which is currently not being used by anyone else.


	2. Konak Asy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where it becomes very apparent that I have a lot of headcanons which I have incorporated into my fic. As noted in the tags, there will be discussion of PTSD in this fic—I made effort to do research, but there may be mistakes—and that also starts in this chapter, to some extent. 
> 
> Like most writers, I attribute narration and thoughts ("he said," "Marie thought," etc.) but to make Hallelujah and Allelujah's internal dialogues easier to read, I have also chosen to bold and italicize Hallelujah's thoughts while only italicizing Allelujah's. (Ex: _No,_ Allelujah thought. **_Yes_** , Hallelujah thought.)
> 
> Updates are now officially every Friday! The chapter title explanation can be found in the endnote.

The afternoon passed in a flurry of activity.  By 4:45, Allelujah had learned how to make rice, watched the end of a movie he knew nothing about…and then moved back to his own apartment, where he helped unpack a massive amount of groceries, then spent hours alternating between cutting things up for Saji, watching TV, and freaking out in his bedroom.  And now, he was setting the table, while Saji watched a steaming skillet of fish and vegetables simmer on the stovetop, and Louise grumpily stirred a mixture of sugar and vinegar into a bowl of rice at the counter.  Marie, who had just finished butchering the beef Saji was cooking, had earned her TV rotation and was watching a modeling competition show in the living room.

As Allelujah set out the last of the cups, he had a thought.  “Did we buy drinks?” he asked.

“…no,” Saji said, looking alarmed.  “Louise, do we have any soda?”

“Uh, I think we’ve got a bottle of Coca-Cola in the fridge?” Louise said.  “You’re the only one who drinks it.”

“There’s tea in the cupboard, too,” Saji said.  “Marie, I’m sorry to ask, but could you go get it?”

“Sure,” Marie said, getting up.  “Do you want me to bring anything else?  I’m not sure we have enough chopsticks for everyone.”

“I don’t think people in Kazakhstan use chopsticks,” Saji said. “It would be pretty mean to ask them to learn a new utensil when they’re already meeting new people.”

He pulled his keys out of his pocket, held them up, and tossed them toward Marie.  Marie caught them without looking up. 

 “I’ll be back in a second.” she said. 

With his task complete, Allelujah sank down into his chair.  They had fifteen minutes until his relatives were supposed to be here.  That was fifteen minutes to worry and obsess.  He’d gone over all of this before, of course—but he couldn’t really keep himself from doing it, not anymore.  The sensation in his stomach could only be described as butterflies if there were some variety of butterfly that ate flesh. 

Thinking of that put him in mind of the OO Gundam’s in Trans-Am mode, a terrifying war machine with sparkling particles streaming forth from it in every direction, and he swallowed a hysterical chuckle.

But—his _brother_.  Someone who was to him what Neil was to Lyle.  Lyle tried to hide it, but Allelujah could tell how much his efforts to _not be Neil_ had shaped him.  Was that how all brothers were? Or was that just twins?  He and Marie had seen other siblings on their travels.  Some had gotten along; others had all but loathed one another.  Saji had a sister, once—but he’d said she was more like a mother, so maybe that didn’t count.

And an aunt…he wasn’t even sure what you did with aunts.  No one in Celestial Being had any—or if they did, they never mentioned them, even after the ban on talking about people’s pasts was lifted.  So, maybe aunts weren’t important?  But this _felt_ important.  Maybe because he just had an aunt, and not a mother or father to meet, it was different for him.

He didn’t know what to do with a family.  After his travelling, he’d finally sort of figured out what to do with civilian strangers.  But people who wanted to know more about him than how he was enjoying the country he was currently in?  He had no idea.  The last civilian stranger he’d met was Saji, and, honestly, he didn’t remember a lot of that.  He’d been able to pass off his lack of competence at that time as trauma…or maybe he’d been too traumatized to even apply the little knowledge he’d had?  He wasn’t sure. Other than Saji, well, Christina had been… _kind of_ civilian, except that it had been an act that no one but Tieria had really fallen for.

He was so completely unready for this.

Naturally, that was when the door open, and Marie walked back in, flanked by two strangers.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Arman wasn’t sure he liked Tokyo.  He’d been in a large city before—or at least, he’d thought he had—but Astana was _tiny_ compared to this place.  This city was huge and crowded, every twisting road and side-street congested with people and vehicles.  If he let himself think about it, he started to have trouble breathing just at the thought of how many people there were around him.  He didn’t belong in a place this big.

But, somehow his brother did.  And if he wanted to meet him, he’d have to bear it.  So he clutched the handle of his luggage tightly enough that the grooves in it dug into his skin as he and Samal made their way through Tokyo’s crowded sidewalks.  Yet another stranger jostled him, and he glanced back at Samal, hoping to find an encouraging smile on her face.  Instead, he saw a slightly strained grimace, and followed her gaze to a horrifyingly crowded area across the street, covered in signage.

“What is that place?” he asked softly, following her to the crosswalk.

As they walked, Samal glanced down at her phone, then at one of the signs.  “According to the information Ms. Feldt gave me, that’s the bullet train station.”

Arman swore.

The bullet train was a claustrophobic nightmare that, according to Samal’s phone, took half as long as it seemed to take.  When they finally staggered off, they were in a slightly less crowded part of the city, still surrounded by towering buildings of mostly glass that reflected the sun so brightly that it hurt his eyes to look at them.

They spent a few blocks following Samal’s GPS and gathering subtle, curious looks from other people on the street.  Finally, they came to an apartment building that was a bit shorter and sturdier-looking than some of the others in the neighborhood. 

Now, they just had to find the apartment.

The lobby was large and plain, white walls paired with blue carpets.  A desk attendant gave them a curious look but didn’t stop them from entering.

 _Good,_ Arman thought.  _Airport security was bad enough_.

As they got into the elevator, Samal checked the information Ms. Feldt— _such a strange name_ , he thought—had given them.  “Apartment 548,” she said. 

“Okay,” Arman replied, hitting the button labelled “5” and then waiting for the door to close.  “Samal…what do you think he’ll be like?”

“I don’t know,” Samal said.  “From what Ms. Feldt said, he’s had a hard life, but….she cared enough to bring us to meet him.  So, whatever happened to him, he’s still got people who care about him.  I hope that means that he’s at least a little happy.”

Sobered, Arman said, “Me too.”

The elevator opened with a ding, into a corridor that matched the lobby that they’d just left.  Doors lined both sides, but Arman couldn’t see apartment numbers anywhere. 

 _How do we find it now?_ He wondered.

Just as he was starting to panic, he caught sight of a woman with long white hair leaving one of the apartments a few yards away from them. 

“Miss!” he called out in English, hoping he’d be understood.  “Can you help me find an apartment?”

The woman turned around—she was young, far too young to have white hair, so maybe it was platinum blonde?—and smiled at him.

“Of course,” she replied, also in English.  “Where are you trying to go?”

She walked over, cradling a bottle of cola and a box of tea in one arm, her eyes suddenly widening as she got closer to them.  They were an unnerving shade of golden-yellow, he noticed.

“Wait—are you Arman?” she asked softly.

Arman drew back, surprised.

She held up her free hand, as if to show that she was unarmed.  “I’m Marie; I’m your brother’s fiancée,” she said.  “It’s really nice to meet you.”

Caught off guard, Arman managed, “I guess you know my name already.”

Marie giggled, the motion wrinkling her nose and the corners of her eyes, and sending strands of silvery-white hair spilling over her shoulders.

 _I haven’t even met Allelujah, and I’m already a little jealous of him_ , Arman thought.  _She’s beautiful_.

“Good to meet you, Marie,” Samal said, extending one hand as she lifted the other to gesture toward her chest.  “I’m Samal, your fiancé’s aunt.”

Marie shook Samal’s hand with her own free hand.  “Good to meet you, too, Ms. Samal,” she said.  She released Samal’s hand, then motioned toward a door further down the hallway.  “Our apartment’s this way.”

Arman followed her, nervousness constricting his throat. He was about to meet Arys—no, Allelujah, the man called himself Allelujah now.  What would he be like?

 _His fiancée seems very polite,_ he thought as he followed her down the hallway.

“I hope you haven’t eaten yet; we asked some friends of ours to help us make dinner,” Marie continued.  She twisted the doorknob and then nudged the door open with her shoulder in a practiced-looking motion.

“Alle!” she called, as she stepped through the doorway.  “They’re here!”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Allelujah at least had the presence of mind not to respond by saying, _What, wait, now_? aloud, but he certainly thought it.  He shot up from his seat at the table, jarring every dish on it so that a soft clattering sound filled the kitchen and provided a nice, discordant backbeat to his panic.

He was prevented from having any sort of open freakout, however, by the fact that his relatives were _physically present_ and _in his apartment_.  Alive, and breathing, and…wow, they actually looked like him.  He had half-expected his relatives would turn out like the Vashtis, with him looking as unrelated to the other two as Ian.   

But the woman’s skin was the same color as his—for all that she was round-faced and short, with cropped, grey hair that laid flatter than his ever had.  And as for the man…he was practically what Allelujah would’ve been if he’d never gone to the SSI.  Well, not quite.  He was a few years older than Allelujah was, the hair he’d pulled back with a woven headband was a darker, purer shade of brown, and his skin was a lighter tone.  But his eyes were both the same grey as Allelujah’s own left eye, his facial structure was near-identical, especially in the cheekbones, and they were both roughly the same height.

Adding to the similarities, they were both staring at one another.

 _Okay, I’m the host,_ Allelujah thought, perhaps a bit hysterically.  _It’s my job to make him feel at ease.  I need to figure out a way to make this slightly less weird than it is.  Oh my gosh.  I have a brother—no, no this is not the time.  Be a host, say something—_

“Uh, hi?” Allelujah said, walking into the living room.

 _Anything but that, idiot!_ he thought.  _You are meeting your brother for the first time you can remember, you should say something more meaningful than “Hi,” what is wrong with you?_

 ** _I can answer that_** _,_ Hallelujah piped up.  **_Do you want the list chronologically by when it developed or in alphabetical—_**

 _Not now!_ Allelujah thought, a bit frantic.  _You will only get to meet them if I don’t scare them away first and making me look insane is not going to help with that._

The man smiled, genuinely.  _What did Ms. Sumeragi say his name was?_ Allelujah thought, racking his brain for the answer.

 ** _Arman_** **,** Hallelujah replied, the image of a smirk flitting through Allelujah’s mind along with the information.

 _Thank you, now leave_ , Allelujah thought, careful not to say the words aloud. He took a deep breath, then held out a hand.

“A-Arman, right?” he asked.  “It’s, um, very—”

He broke off as Arman abrubtly took his hand and shook it, his grip firm and warm.  He was grinning, and his eyes were bright.

“It’s _really_ good to meet you,” Arman said, in English.  His voice was rough and Allelujah abruptly realized that he was near tears.

 _What, over meeting me?_ Allelujah asked.  _I’m not worth being upset over._

 ** _Shut up with your stupid self-esteem issues already and talk to this guy_** **,** Hallelujah barked.  **_The sooner he likes you, the sooner I get to come out_.**

Startled, Allelujah blurted, “We made food.  Because you were coming.  I hope you like it.”

 _What is wrong with you, gosh, say, ‘nice to meet you, too,’_ he thought, half-furious with himself. _You’re always so direct with Marie, you were practically saying ‘I love you’ even back when she didn’t know you from Adam, and this guy is_ related to you _. He deserves better.  What the heck, Allelujah?_

He kept hold of Arman’s hand, and added, “I’m really glad I’m getting to meet you too.”

Arman smiled back, his expression still warm.  

His companion sniffed the air and asked, “Is that why your apartment smells like a restaurant?”

Allelujah nodded.  “Saji was the one who did most of the work,” he said, gesturing toward his friend, who was busily moving platters from the counter to the table.

“Oh, let me help you with that!” the woman said.  “I’ll just be a minute.  Allelujah, my name is Samal, and I’m your aunt.  I really do want to speak with you more, but I feel awful letting, ah, Sarji—

“Saji,” Louise corrected from the living room.

“Louise, be polite, you used to pronounce it ‘Sají,’” Saji chided as he retrieved a pair of oven mitts from a drawer that Allelujah didn’t remember putting any in.

“—put all the dishes out by himself,” Samal finished, looking only mildly put out at the interruptions.  “Now, why don’t you boys go talk?  Maybe the girls will come help us in the kitchen…”

“Louise is excused from anything that involves hot dishes for the forseeable future; there are medical reasons…” Allelujah listened to Saji ramble on out of one ear as he turned his attention to Arman.

“Let’s, uh, go sit down,” he said.

Arman nodded.

They sat down next to one another on the couch, while Louise perched in a nearby chair, presumably ready to offer aid or simply watch the unfolding drama as circumstances allowed.

“So, uh, how was your trip?” Allelujah asked lamely, berating himself inwardly for the poor choice of question.

“It was….your friend was very nice to purchase the tickets, but I have never been to a city this large before,” Arman said, spreading out his hands in a gesture of helplessness.  “The bullet train was very crowded.”

Allelujah nodded.  “I don’t really like it either,” he said.  ‘ _It makes me so claustrophobic that I can’t actually deal with riding on it’ is encompassed by ‘not liking it,’ right?_   “I’m glad that you got in safely though.”

Arman smiled at him again, but it was tinged with sadness this time.  “I am too.  I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“It doesn’t really feel real to me, either,” Allelujah said, entirely honestly—because, with only a few hours’ notice, he was still getting used to the idea that this was going to happen, much less the idea that it was actually happening right now.

“Tell me about yourself!” Arman said, enthusiastic, gesturing widely.  “I want to know about…about everything I’ve missed.  Or at least some of it.  What do you do?”

“Right now, I look through classified ads and take cooking lessons,” Allelujah blurted, without really thinking.  “I, uh, don’t have a job yet.”

“So Marie’s paying for the apartment?” Arman asked.

“Uh, no, that’s our pensions,” Allelujah said carefully. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Saji called, from the kitchen.

“What’s this about pensions?” Samal asked.

“It’s, uh, how we’re paying for the apartment right now,” Allelujah said, flushing a bit, as he sat down.  “Um, you can sit wherever you like.  We normally don’t have guests other than Saji and Louise, so we’re not really used to doing seating charts.”

“So, you were in the military?” Samal asked, sitting down.  “Which branch?”

Once he was in his seat, Saji bowed his head and clapped his hands together.  Louise, Marie, and Allelujah immediately copied his motion.  “ _Itadakimasu_ ,” they said at once.

Samal looked confused.

“What was that?” Arman asked.

“It’s a Japanese custom,” Saji said.  “You do it before you eat.”

“Oh, okay,” Arman said, copying the motion and saying, “ _Itakadimasu_ ,” which was pretty close, for someone who’d only heard it said once.

His relatives successfully distracted from the complex question that was his military service, Allelujah dug into the food.  He was happy to discover that he had not overdone the rice and, more importantly, that even if he had, all of Saji’s food was too delicious for anyone to notice any of his minor errors.

“You’re an excellent cook,” Samal commented, glancing at Saji.  “But, I’ve been wondering for a while…are you or your girlfriend related to Marie somehow?”

Saji, Louise, and Marie stared at her, wide-eyed.

“N-no!”

“Why would you think that?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”

Allelujah looked from his friends and fiancée—two people who were the last remnants of their respective families, and a test tube baby from a different continent than either—and then to his relatives, who were confused at the offense the three had taken at the question.

“Actually, they’re just really close friends,” Allelujah said.  “They’re _like_ family, but no one’s related to anyone else.”

“It’s just that, if you look at Louise’s and Marie’s cheekbones—” Samal started.

“Marie’s from the Institute, like Allelujah, and I’m a Halevy,” Louise said flatly, with a quaver to her voice that Allelujah could barely make out.  “Marie, Alle, can I use the bedroom?”

“Louise!” Marie said, half-scolding, half dismayed.

“Guess I’m not up to company,” Louise said, a bit sharply.  She looked pale.

“Go ahead,” Allelujah said.  “Feel better.”

Louise pushed back her chair and walked back toward the bedroom, steadying herself against the wall with her flesh hand when possible but never even trying to use her artificial hand for that purpose.  _Crap_. _She only does that when she thinks she might have a seizure_.

Saji had clearly noticed the same thing.  He glanced after her, worried, but didn’t get up. 

Arman looked at the rest of their faces, alarmed.  “What just happened?” he asked.

“Louise has some health problems,” Saji said.  “She hasn’t been out of the hospital that long, and I guess we overestimated how much she could handle.”

“Will she be okay?” Arman asked, concerned.

Allelujah felt a swell of affection for his sibling.  Whatever else was true of his newfound relative, it was in his favor that he was compassionate enough to care about Louise’s health.

“What did she mean about being a Halevy, though?” Samal asked.

Saji blinked.  “You didn’t hear about that?”

“About what?” Arman asked.  “We…tend not to watch a lot of news, unless it’s about Kazakhstan.  It’s better not to borrow the rest of the world’s troubles.” 

The words would have normally annoyed Allelujah, but he saw the expression on Arman’s face.  He was avoiding something unpleasant.  Allelujah might not be the only person here who was trying to put on a good face for his long-lost relative.

“The Halevy family was massacred during a family wedding by a group of pseudo-Gundam pilots,” Marie explained.  “Louise was the only survivor.”

“Oh,” Arman said softly.

“The poor girl,” Samal said.  “I can see that I was right when I thought that she seemed like a tough young woman.”

“She is that,” Saji said, with a slightly weak smile.

“So, how did you meet Allelujah?” Samal asked, after taking another bite of her meal.

Allelujah froze, but Saji just gave a small laugh.  “The circumstances were a little complicated, but we probably wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for my old neighbor.  He didn’t exactly introduce us, but he’s the reason I ended up in the same place as Allelujah.”

“He doesn’t live near here anymore, though?” Samal asked.

Allelujah couldn’t help it, he laughed.  “No,” he said, still chuckling a bit.  Marie jabbed him in the side.

Arman gave him a questioning glance.

“Setsuna—um, Saji’s old neighbor—he’s in space, right now,” Allelujah explained, still grinning.  “Like, on an exploration mission.  He’s probably about as far from this apartment as it’s possible to be.”

“Wow, you know an astronaut?” Arman asked.  “That’s…wow.  I wanted to do that, for a little while, but it was a lot of school, so I decided against it…”

He trailed off, as Allelujah wondered, _Does Setsuna even have any formal education?_   Then, a thought occurred to him.

“What do you do?” he asked.

Arman shrugged.  “I work at a traditional crafts cooperative store. I do…well, uh, traditional embroidery, actually.”

“Embroidery?” Saji repeated, incredulous.

“That’s really cool,” Allelujah said quietly.  _All this time, I didn’t even know I_ was _Kazakh, and he’s been doing traditional crafts…it’s enough to make a person feel a little inferior._

“Really?” Arman said.  “Because, I mean, back home people think it’s kind of nice, but I’d heard that in other countries—”

“Kind of nice?” Samal echoed, incredulous.  “Arman, you’re the top traditional embroiderer in our part of the country.”

“Wait, really?” Allelujah asked.

Arman nodded, blushing.

“Did you hear that?” Allelujah asked, turning to Marie.  “My brother’s the best embroiderer in part of a country!”  _My brother can make things, instead of destroy them.  My brother has a connection to his past.  My brother is good at what his does.  I have a brother and I can be proud of him.  This is…kind of great._

Marie grinned back at Allelujah, then turned to Arman.  “That really is pretty impressive.”

“It’s just embroidery,” Arman said, dismissive.

“He sounds like Marina, saying, ‘It’s just singing,’” Louise announced, as she walked back into the room. 

She looked shaky, but not bruised or ill.  Whatever had happened had been unpleasant, but not bad enough to endanger her.  Still, Saji was probably regretting his decision not to go back with her—but, on the other hand, he had agreed to let her handle her “episodes”—Louise’s catch-all term for her panic attacks and seizures—alone if they were in private and she had time to get to a safe place to do so.

“Who’s Marina?” Arman asked.

“The person who paid for your trip, probably,” Marie said, neatly sidestepping the question. 

“So you have more than one friend who could afford to pay for a trip like this?” Arman asked, looking surprised.

“Not really, but Ms. Sumeragi could’ve either asked her, or called in favors from some people who don’t actually like me but owe her,” Allelujah explained.

“Oh, yes, Ms. Feldt mentioned her,” Arman said.

“Well, that proves that Feldt was involved,” Allelujah said under his breath, glancing at Marie.

“I didn’t think there was really a question about that,” Marie replied, just as quietly.

“So, Arman does embroidery, what do you do?” Louise asked Samal.

“I work for a telecom company,” Samal said. “Nothing exciting, but it pays the bills.”

“Not every job has to be something exciting,” Allelujah said.

“True enough,” Samal said.  “Say, you never told me what branch of the military you were in.”

 _Avoiding the question twice would be suspicious_ , Allelujah thought, as he answered, “I piloted a mobile suit.”

“Both of us did,” Marie said, grabbing his hand and squeezing it in solidarity.

Arman looked distinctly troubled by the subject, and Allelujah couldn’t help but be worried.

“Were you on the same team, then?” Samal asked.  “Or squad, or group, or whatever they’re calling them now.”

Allelujah tried not to let panic show on his face, but before he could come up with a way to technically not lie, Arman asked, “What’s wrong?”

He heard a soft sigh from Marie as he slumped forward, defeated.  “We weren’t…exactly…with the same military, always,” he said.

Arman stared at them.  “You’re kidding.”

“No, it was exactly like Romeo and Juliet but with giant robots,” Louise broke in.  “I wasn’t there but Feldt and Milena gossip.”

“What does that make you two, exactly?” Marie replied, annoyed.

Louise flushed and looks away.

Marie’s smile was triumphant.

Allelujah wanted to hide in a hole somewhere.

“Wait—so, what, were you just in separate militaries, or were your countries actually fighting?” Samal asked.

“ _We_ were fighting,” Marie corrected.  “There was some confusion.  We had been friends,” she paused, suddenly uncomfortable, “in the Institute, but we didn’t recognize one another at first.”

“And then, once you did, did you quit?” Arman asked, wide-eyed.

“I already had ideological concerns about my chosen faction, so I chose to defect to Allelujah’s side,” Marie explained.  “We stayed in the military until the war ended.”

“Wow,” Arman said.  “That…wow. Samal, my little brother’s fiancée defected from an army for him.”

“I heard,” Samal said indulgently.

“And you two also fought?” Arman asked.  “Is everyone here a veteran?”

“All of us are,” Saji said.  “But…honestly, I don’t really think that makes good dinner conversation.”

Arman looked troubled again.

“I suppose not,” Samal said, with a hum of agreement.

Allelujah slumped in his seat further.  As the evening progressed, he became more and more convinced that Samal and Arman were avoiding the SSI deliberately, for his sake—and he did appreciate that.  But asking about his later life wasn’t a lot safer—not when he wasn’t sure how they’d react to him being a member of Celestial Being, never mind the fact that he’d killed most of his fellow SSI test subjects and had been imprisoned as a terrorist for four years.  None of _that_ was dinner conversation, either. 

 _He_ wanted to ask about his parents, but that would probably be painful for Arman, which made it a poor topic for dinner conversation as well.  Arman, after all, probably _remembered_ them—he might even remember Allelujah from before the Institute, back when he’d been…

 _Lord save me, he knows my birth name_ , Allelujah realized, all at once.  _I could ask him.  He could tell me.  I could know who I was before I was named by my future wife, before I was a test subject—_

 _Except, how awful would it be to have someone_ ask _you that?_   he thought.  _I’m sure he’s considered the idea that I don’t remember my name, since I’m not using it…but he might have convinced himself I have other reasons…he might even think I remember our parents.  Great, another way I get to disappoint him. I hate Ms. Sumeragi so much, I hate Ms. Sumeragi so much—_

 ** _You have exactly two seconds to get your crap together before I take over and say “Hi” to the family,_** Hallelujah interrupted.  **_Your little ice queen probably thinks I already have, with how long you’ve been spaced out_.**

 _Don’t you dare!_ Allelujah thought sharply.  He blinked, refocusing his vision, and saw Marie looking at him, her expression a mixture of worry and extremely subtle caution.

“Sorry,” Allelujah managed.  “I just got lost in thought.”

“Careful,” Marie said.  “Your food will get cold.”

Allelujah nodded.

“Marie was telling us about how you travelled around the world after the war,” Samal said.  “I think it sounds like it must’ve been lovely.”

Allelujah managed a genuine smile at that.

“It was,” he said.  “I think my favorite place was Morocco.”

“You just liked Morocco because of that one place with the cheap dessert menu,” Marie accused.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Allelujah replied, grinning.

He wanted his family to have this, a mental image of the two of them having fun and teasing one another, before he had to talk to them about everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Konak Asy’ is variously defined as “food for guests,” or “entertaining guests.” It is sometimes associated with the old custom of making a traditional mutton-based dish called _beshbarmak_ when a guest comes by butchering a sheep when they arrive, a tradition that dates back to when the Kazakh people were largely nomadic. 
> 
> One of my more minor headcanons is that Louise’s prosthetic, while realistic, is not heatproof—thus she has to be careful in carrying hot things in this fic.
> 
> Edit: My tumblr is <http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com> if you're interested. All stuff related to this fic will be under the Tumblr tag ["what became of his ancestry"](http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com/tagged/what-became-of-his-ancestry/chrono) which is currently not being used by anyone else.


	3. Akyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is definitely the chapter where some of the warnings mentioned earlier in the fic come into play. Be careful if you need to be. Alternately, if you’re here for the angst, this is your chapter! Title explanation is, as always, in the end note.

After the meal, Allelujah cleared off the table and Samal insisted on helping again.  Saji, meanwhile, collected a few of the ingredients that belonged in his apartment and took them back.  Marie apparently felt bad about all of this and went to help with the table too, leaving Arman alone in the living room with Louise.

He wasn’t sure what to think of her.  She was stereotypically gorgeous, apart from her unhealthily pale skin and the circles under her eyes, but there was something hard about her expression that scared him a little bit.

“Whatever you’re thinking, it was worse,” she said, without preamble, as he sat down.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“About Allelujah,” she said, quietly.  “We’ve been avoiding hard topics all night, and now that dinner’s over you’re out of excuses.”

Arman wanted to protest, but he nodded instead. What could he say?  She was right.  It was nice, to pretend for a while that there was nothing more to all of this than having his brother back.  To act like he didn’t notice how, when they stuck to good topics, Allelujah only drew from those years of travel and a few very carefully selected anecdotes from his time in the military.

“I’m afraid of what I’ll learn,” Arman said, clasping his hands in front of him, then letting them fall to his lap.

“So is he,” Louise said.  “That’s why I wanted to warn you.  It’s worse.  Than what you’re thinking.”

Arman blinked at her.

“And maybe I should be sympathetic to you,” Louise added.  “He’s your long-lost brother or whatever.  This is probably hard on you, too.  But all I’m really concerned about here is that Saji’s friend, who’s kind of my friend, doesn’t come out of this traumatized.”

“I appreciate your concern for my brother,” Arman said.  _It’s like Samal said.  He has people who care about him. Enough to protect him from me, if they think it’s necessary._

“He was my friend, first,” Louise replied.  “And he’s been hurt enough.  He’s scared of how you’re going to react.  So, just…think, before you say things, okay?”

“I will,” Arman said, seriously.

He was disturbed, though.  _It’s worse than you think_ was not the sort of thing he had hoped to hear about Allelujah’s background.  Particularly not from Louise, who had survived her entire family being massacred, and a war besides, and who was now in poor health—if _she_ thought it was bad, well it had to be, didn’t it?

Allelujah had seemed so happy, and normal—a bit…spacey, perhaps, and somewhat hesitant, but not irreparably broken.  Which was more than Arman had ever hoped for. Really, a living brother was more than Arman had ever hoped for.  Maybe he should just keep that in mind—that he was lucky enough to be able to see his brother alive at all.  It might be enough to get him through whatever shocks were waiting for him.

No—what would get him through that would be the fact that this man was his brother.  In the end, that was the most important thing.

Footsteps approached, and he looked up to see Allelujah, Samal, and Marie walking in to the living room.  Samal looked a bit worried, Marie looked more worried, and Allelujah looked as though he were about to face down his own death.

 _Between his military service and the fact that he was supposed to have been disposed of by the SSI, he may actually have experience with that_ , Arman thought, chilled.

The slamming of a door heralded Saji’s return to the apartment, and Allelujah tensed.  Arman hoped, probably vainly, that he was just hyperaware because he was nervous, and not because the siblings had PTSD in common as well as their face shapes.

Allelujah sat down, a bit shakily, his eyes utterly unfocused. Arman could’ve gotten out his embroidery and started working on it and Allelujah probably wouldn’t have noticed. 

 _He looks terrified,_ Arman thought, saddened.  _Of us_.

Well, he probably couldn’t stop Allelujah from feeling that way entirely, but perhaps he could make all of this a little easier on him.  He cleared his throat. “If there’s anything you’d like to ask me, you can,” he said.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::.

 ** _He offered to let you ask a question_** **,** Hallelujah prompted.

 _I-I have a lot of questions but all of them are going to hurt him and I don’t want—_ Allelujah thought, frantic.

 ** _That’s it, either you ask him what the h*** your birth name actually is or_** **I _do it_ , **Hallelujah threatened.

“W-what’s my name?” Allelujah asked, flushing as he stumbled over the words and then wincing at the flash of confusion on both Arman and Samal’s faces.

Arman was the first to understand. “You don’t remember,” he said slowly.  There was grief in his tone.

Allelujah swallowed, and shut his eyes.  “Nothing before the Institute,” he said.  “Sorry.”

“ _Nothing?_ ” Samal half-squeaked, staring at him with a sort of horrified pity that just made him feel disgusting.

“Arystan,” Arman said at length, voice thick.  “Arystan Temirovich Aliyev.  I can,” he paused, and took a breath, “I can show you how to write it, later, if you want.”

“That would be good,” Allelujah said.  “Thank you.”

“It’s your name, you don’t have to thank me,” Arman replied, with a hint of an edge to his tone.

Samal, who seemed to have calmed down, asked, “How did you get your current name?”

Allelujah glanced at Marie, and smiled.  “She gave it to me,” he said.  “Well, the first name,” he amended. “The last name was given to me when I joined the military, because I needed one for that.”

“Thank you,” Arman said to Marie, eyes slightly bright.

“It’s his name, you don’t have to thank me,” Marie said, echoing back his words, with some of Soma’s steel in her voice.

“So, the military gave you a last name?” Samal asked.

“Yeah,” Allelujah said. “It’s Haptism. Did Feldt mention that?”

Arman shook his head.  “Allelujah Haptism,” he said.  “It’s a good name.”

Allelujah smiled at him.

“Is it all right to ask now, about when you were in the military?” Samal asked.  “I know I seem nosy, but…it seems like it was a lot of your life.  I’d like to know about it.”

“It isn’t really nosy…it’s just…” Allelujah trailed off.

“He’s worried about your reaction,” Saji said.  “It’s probably my fault, because I nearly _shot_ Setsuna over being with your military—but to be fair, there were a lot of misunderstandings involved in that whole situation.” He turned to Allelujah.  “I really doubt they’re going to react more poorly than I did.”

“It might just be Setsuna, actually,” Louise said, clearly trying to break the tension.  “If I had been capable of it when I met him at that party, I might have tried to do the same thing.”

“You encountered him when he was spying on your superior officers,” Marie said, joining in.  “You had a good reason to want to shoot him.”

“I had a good reason, but that wouldn’t have been why I shot at him,” Louise replied, matter-of-factly.  “I was still trying to get revenge on the wrong people, back then.”

Samal and Arman looked less amused than alarmed, and Allelujah decided it was time to rip off the metaphorical bandage.

“I was with Celestial Being,” Allelujah said.  “From when they first appeared.”

Samal’s mouth turned into a little “o” of surprise, and Arman looked impressed, but also a little bit scared.

“One of the Gundam Meisters?” Arman asked quietly, at length.

“Yeah,” Allelujah said.

“Well,” Arman said.  “I was, uh, expecting Katharon.”

“I knew some people in Katharon but I don’t think I would have joined,” Allelujah said. 

Samal glanced toward Marie, with an expression that clearly read, _And you were all right with this?_

Saji spoke up, “We might as well get this out of the way.  When we talk about my ‘military service’—I joined Celestial Being formally a little bit after the first time they did a joint mission with Katharon.”  He glanced at Marie.

“I was with the HRL military until it disbanded for the A-Laws, and then I joined the A-Laws around the time that their conflict with Katharon became serious,” Marie said formally. “Shortly before the Break Pillar Incident, I defected to Celestial Being.”

“I was with the A-Laws for most of the time that the A-Laws existed, and I am the only person here who was not a part of Celestial Being, though not for a lack of trying on Saji’s part,” Louise finished.

Arman looked thoughtful.  “Ms. Feldt and Ms. Sumeragi?”

“Literally the collective backbone of Celestial Being,” Allelujah confirmed.

“Should I be worried that the ‘collective backbone of Celestial Being’ has my phone number?” Samal asked, not quite joking.

“Ms. Sumeragi might drunk-dial you if she relapses again,” Allelujah said.  “She’s a recovering alcoholic.  Feldt won’t do anything with it.”

Arman looked a bit uncomfortable, opened his mouth, and closed it again.  Finally, he spoke. “In the second war…with the A-Laws…I think most people appreciate what you did.  I know I do.  They were doing a lot of things that weren’t right.  The same with that weird thing with the space station—were you involved in that?”

“We both were,” Marie said.  “It’s still classified, though.”

“But, initially…what Celestial Being’s goals were…that was…kind of extreme,” he said, very carefully.  “Help me understand.”

Allelujah was prepared to panic, but instead all he felt was almost unnatural calm.  He met Arman’s eyes.  “The Institute took me, and turned me into a weapon, because they thought they would need me for war.  I wanted to change the world so that they would have no reason to do that to anyone else.  And so that no other country, fifty or a hundred or two hundred years down the line, would think they needed to do it to someone else.  That was my reason.”

Arman looked like he wanted to flinch away from Allelujah’s gaze, but wouldn’t let himself.

“It didn’t work like we wanted it to,” Allelujah said. “And I’m not proud of everything I did.  But I don’t regret trying to bring about peace.”

“Is that how everyone feels?” Samal asked.  “In Celestial Being, I mean.”

“Everyone that I’m able to ask, yeah,” Allelujah said, with a pang of regret.  Seeing her confusion, he clarified, “Everyone that lived to see the A-Laws rise to power.”

“Fallen Angels,” Arman murmured, and this time, Allelujah flinched at the words.

He was searching for a way to make sure that the conversation didn’t segue into what he was doing for the four years after Fallen Angels when Samal changed the topic for him—though, not for the better.

“Allelujah—I’ve been wondering, with the Institute—why did the record that we got say that you’d been—” Samal started.

“Aunt Samal, you can’t just ask that sort of question!” Arman interrupted.

“But I’d like to know how he survived to be here with us, if…”

Allelujah stopped paying attention to the conversation because he was too busy having a flashback.

_The awareness of being hunted, like someone breathing down the back of your neck…the sensation of hunger, slowly turning into something sharper…the other children screaming, the sound echoing and rebounding in the corridors…Hallelujah’s laughter rising in pitch…blood splattered across stainless steel…_

**_If you can’t explain, let me!_** Hallelujah suggested, gleeful at the memory.

 _No, no, no!_ Allelujah thought firmly.

 ** _Then you tell them,_** Hallelujah challenged.

 _I can’t!_ Allelujah thought, frantic.  _They’ll think I’m a freak.  They’ll run.  They’ll be_ right _to._

 _No—more than that_ , he thought _, I can’t talk about it.  I can’t even think about it, without having a flashback; the only people I’ve told are Dr. Moreno and Marie, and they at least had some idea about Hallelujah—I can’t—_

 ** _Then I will!_** Hallelujah’s tone was triumphant.  **_It’s the best solution—I get to meet them, and you get to avoid talking about things you like to pretend didn’t happen.  C’mon.  Lemme out._**

 _Stay away from them!_ Allelujah all but growled at him.

With some effort, he pulled himself back to reality, and found himself hyperventilating and disheveled, with Marie’s hand on his shoulder and his hair hanging over his eyes.  He slowed his breathing to even, shaky gasps and tried to focus on the questions being directed toward him.

“Allelujah, can you hear me now?”  Marie asked softly.

“Yeah,” Allelujah said.  “S-sorry.”

“Are you okay?” Arman asked.  “No—that’s a silly question, I should be asking whether you will be okay.”

“I’ll be fine,” Allelujah said, his voice thin and breathy to his own ears.  Hallelujah was getting harder to fight down, especially when they kept going near the memories that were basically his.

“Is that—do I look like that, when I have a flashback?” Arman asked, turning toward Samal and gesturing a bit wildly at Allelujah.

“No, that was different,” Samal said, pressing her lips together until they formed a thin, white line.

“You have flashbacks?” Allelujah asked.

Arman looked uncomfortable.  “From the Solar Energy Wars,” he said.  “While we were refugees, I saw a lot of things I wish I hadn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Allelujah said, feeling like a block of lead had settled in his stomach.  _War can’t leave anything alone, can it?_ he thought.

“It’s…not that uncommon, back home,” Arman said. “The whole country was pretty badly affected by the wars, you know?”

Allelujah nodded, sadly.

“Allelujah, how are you feeling?” Marie asked.

“Better,” he said, which wasn’t technically a lie.  He felt like he wanted to sleep, instead of like he was going to pass out. That was an improvement by anyone’s standards.

He gathered himself.  “I’m sorry, but, how I got out of the Institute, it’s not—I don’t really know how to talk about it.  I told a doctor, once, because he wanted to know why I wasn’t sleeping, and Marie.  But that’s it.  I—I can’t talk about it.  I’m sorry.”

Marie squeezed his shoulder, and Allelujah leaned into her touch.

Samal looked worried and faintly guilty, as she said, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Allelujah said, cutting her off.  “It’s fine.”

Arman, though, just looked devastated.  “I should have been able to protect you, back then.  If I’d just _been there_ when they were looking for children to steal—”

“They might’ve taken both of us,” Allelujah said flatly.  “Or someone else.  It doesn’t matter.  The past can’t be changed.  And you were just a kid, anyway.  You _can’t_ blame yourself.”

The last thing he needed was Arman deciding that he was to blame for Allelujah.  That was a far heavier burden than Arman knew, and the other man was decidedly unready to bear it.

“Besides, you’ve been asking about the difficult parts,” Allelujah said.  “There were good parts, too.  Like Marie.  Or the friends I have in Celestial Being.  Learning to make omelets from Saji. That sort of thing.”

Arman smiled, just a bit, but the expression quickly turned strained again.  “But we talked about those things at dinner,” he said, crossing his arms loosely over his chest.  “And…it seemed like you had to search for things to discuss.”

Allelujah swallowed.  “Well, part of it was that I was trying to avoid things that would give away that I was part of Celestial Being,” he said.  “You can understand why I was nervous about telling you, I think…and I couldn’t exactly make jokes about Setsuna’s Gundam obsession without explaining that.”

“Setsuna…he’s the astronaut who used to live next to Saji, right?” Arman asked.

Allelujah grinned.  “Yeah—I’m surprised you remembered after we only mentioned him once.  He’s another Meister.  He likes his Gundam more than he likes most people.”  He stopped to think for a second.  “Well, then again, Tieria used to like the computer system better than most people, too…”

“You’re not giving us the best impression of the other Gundam Meisters,” Samal said, raising an eyebrow.

“Setsuna’s Gundam obsession is _cute_ , he’s always been so earnest about it,” Allelujah said, with passion.  “No matter how serious things were, he would still get excited about the Gundams.  And Tieria’s gotten a lot nicer since we first met.”

“The person you described from when you met him seems like a completely different person from the one I met,” Saji commented.

“He basically was,” Allelujah said. “Tieria changed a lot.  For the better, I think.”

Arman smiled, uncrossing his arms a little.  “Seems like they’re pretty important to you.”

Allelujah smiled back.  “I know I can rely on them,” he said quietly, thinking about a rescue that had been undertaken as soon as Celestial Being had the intelligence to do it.

Arman looked at him carefully.  “Are you all right?”

“O-of course, I was just—” Allelujah pulled up a crooked grin from _somewhere_ and said, “Ah, you know, when you think about being able to rely on people, it’s not all _good_ memories.”

Arman sat back, looking troubled, but Samal offered him a gentle smile.  “Still, you’re here now, so I suppose we have those friends of yours to thank, don’t we?”

Allelujah laughed a bit at the thought of Samal thanking Setsuna or Tieria—neither of them were particularly good at graciously accepting thanks.  Lyle would probably be polite, at least, and Neil would’ve been…

“You could try, but the only one who would know what to do with a ‘thank-you’ would be Lyle,” he said.  “His brother would have, too, but…”

“The news coverage said that one of the Celestial Being Gundam was destroyed during Operation: Fallen Angels,” Samal said carefully.

Allelujah inclined his head, as Marie found his hand and squeezed.

Arman looked at his aunt in some confusion.  “You watched the coverage?”

“You worked some overtime that week,” Samal said, waving a hand at him.  “I didn’t want you to have to see it, but I wanted to see the footage.  Though…I remember one of the units being captured, too.”

Allelujah bit his lip, his mouth dry.  “That person…they were held for a while, but they weren’t killed.”

He felt Marie lean closer to him as Arman looked at him carefully. 

“Asking you to tell me that it wasn’t you would be pointless, wouldn’t it?” Arman asked, voice strained.

Allelujah winced.

“There are a few people in our area who were taken to Federation detention facilities…they were either with Katharon, or suspected of it,” Arman said.  His hands were wrapped around the hem of his shirt, and he wasn’t meeting Allelujah’s eyes anymore.  “So I know how they treated people. I know—” his voice broke.  “At least tell me they didn’t have you long?”

Samal put an arm around his shoulders.

Allelujah, meanwhile, just sat there, vaguely aware of Marie’s palm pressing against his.  _I can’t even do that much,_ he thought, despondent.

 ** _If you don’t want to answer you know what you can do,_** Hallelujah sing-songed in his mind.

He winced. He was getting tired, and Hallelujah’s offers were starting to seem tempting. The only way to make sure that Hallelujah didn’t take the opening was to close it.

“Celestial Being came as soon as they could find me, but…I wasn’t easy to find,” he said, trying to keep the emotion in his voice to a minimum.  “So it was something like four years.”

“ _Allah_ ,” Arman said quietly, eyes wide and trembling.  Samal tightened her grip on the man’s shoulders, the shock in her own eyes contrasting against the tight frown on her lips.

“It’s in the past now,” Allelujah said, with an amount of equanimity that honestly shocked even him.  “And, I’m here, now.”

Arman looked very nearly ready to cry at that. 

For the first time in a while, Louise spoke up.  “Did you guys still need to borrow sheets for the spare room?”

“No, we found some,” Marie said, voice rough.  Allelujah glanced at her, and saw her staring down at her hands, eyes half-closed with guilt.

 ** _She’s probably remembering that time she slapped you in the face while you were in the straitjacket_** , Hallelujah said.  **_Want me to dig that one up for you so you can remember it too?_**

 _Stop ‘helping_ ,’ Allelujah replied, as he squeezed Marie’s hand.  _I need to deal with this myself_.

“I think, maybe, if we want to talk more, tomorrow would be a good time,” he said aloud, forcing a neutral tone.

Arman’s tone was unreadable as he said, “Yeah.”

“I’ll go set up the guest bedroom,” Marie said, with obviously false cheer.  “Saji, why don’t you get Allelujah a blanket?  I think he’s cold.”

Allelujah hadn’t noticed being cold, but, then again, he hadn’t been noticing much about his physical state for a while.  Now that he was paying attention, he was a bit cold—and more importantly, he was trembling a bit, probably mostly out of exhaustion.  Dredging up all of his worst memories while trying to keep a lid on Hallelujah was a daunting task.  And, maybe, a little more worrying than he’d let himself think about up until now.

What must Samal and Arman _think_ of him, after hearing all of that?

A few seconds later, Allelujah was aware of a blanket being draped over his shoulders.  Sitting down next to him, Saji put a hand on Allelujah’s shoulder.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said softly.  “So relax, okay?”

Softly, Hallelujah snickered at his naivety.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

When Marie finally left the guest bedroom—actually an office with inflatable mattresses on the floor, but the differences weren’t that glaring—it took Arman all of two seconds to slump against the nearest clear wall, muttering epithets in every language he knew.

“Arman…” Samal ventured.

“A week ago I thought my younger brother was long dead,” Arman said softly.  “Today I know that he is alive, but he has survived so much to remain that way that I am not sure it’s appropriate for me to be pleased about it.  How should I feel?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Samal answered promptly.  “How _do_ you feel?”

“Very tired,” Arman said, at length.

“This has been difficult for you—”

“For me?” Arman asked, a bit hysterically.  He couldn’t stop thinking about how worn his brother had looked.  And, at the same time, how _accustomed_ he’d seemed, to all of the atrocities committed against him that Arman could barely stand to think about.  “What about for him?”

“For both of you, then,” Samal said.  “But, he’s concerned about _you_.  He’s been trying to avoid the things he knew would upset us.  This is why he didn’t contact us, I think.”

“Because he didn’t want us to know?”

“Or judge,” Samal reminded him.  “He was in Celestial Being, and neither of us exactly approved of that.”

“It was difficult to fault his argument, though,” Arman said.  “Even if I still have some doubts about the way Celestial Being was acting when they first started out…Allelujah had more than enough reason to support them without hesitating.”

“More than that,” Samal said, quietly.  “Arman, the people who called us here were Celestial Being.  They were also the ones that rescued him from prison.”

“After four years,” Arman muttered.

“We don’t know the circumstances, but if we want to, we can ask someone besides Allelujah,” Samal said.  “But, my point is that the people from Celestial Being seem to care about him.  His earliest memories, right now, are of being called E-0057.  Finding a group of people who would treat him like a human, no matter who they were…I’m sure that meant a lot to him.”

“That’s right, he doesn’t remember…I guess that means he doesn’t remember our parents, either,” Arman said, quietly.

“But you do,” Samal reminded him.  “That’s something you can do for him.  I’m sure he’d love to hear whatever you can tell him of them.”

“A few stories won’t fix anything,” Arman said.  “He’ll still have gone through hell multiple times over.”

“But he’ll know who his parents were,” Samal said.  “Not everyone gets to know that, and up until now, he probably thought he never would.  It may not seem like much, but to him…”

“I want to be able to fix it,” Arman said softly.

“So do I,” Samal replied, startling him.  “In another life, I would’ve taken him in along with you, and he would’ve grown up in my house, maybe not always happy, but safe, at least.  And if he decided to join the military, any military, it would’ve been after a long, normal childhood and not because he wanted to make sure that others were not hurt as he was.”

She sighed. “He seems like a good man,” she said.  “With everything that’s happened to him, he could have very easily become cruel, but he isn’t.  Maybe he isn’t what we expected.  But I’m only disappointed by what’s happened to him, not by who he’s become.”

“I think maybe that’s how I feel, too,” Arman said.  “But it’s hard, to think about all of this happening, while I was living a normal life in Kazakhstan with you.  I still feel like I should’ve been able to stop it, somehow.”

“You know you couldn’t have done anything, not as young as you were when they took him,” she said.  “Didn’t he say that you couldn’t blame yourself?”

“He can say that, but that doesn’t make it easier to believe,” Arman said softly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An “akyn” is a poet/singer who improvises songs and stories about various topics. Some festivals might include competitions between two akyn to see which was most skilled. When Kazakh culture was mostly oral, they were extremely important to the preservation and transmission of history and stories, and they are still part of the preservation of Kazakh culture. Some modern akyn publish their lyrics and poetry.
> 
> Allelujah's birth name is made up and not canon, in case anyone is confused. Arystan means "lion," and is related to the Turkish name "Arslan," from which C.S. Lewis got the name "Aslan." For one of the more religious characters in Gundam 00, it seemed appropriate. As for the other parts of his name, "Temirovich" is a patronymic meaning "son of Temir" and Aliyev is a Kazakh surname I wasn't able to find a meaning for. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone.


	4. Batyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, here’s another chapter. Again, there’s gonna be angst, but also things you may not be up for if you are not in the best mental place. For various reasons, this one’s also going to be heavy on discussion of what I like to call “canon-typical awfulness”—i.e. levels of Bad Things that wouldn’t feel out of place in the actual show, and thus are more-or-less fair game. That said, there’s some stuff that’s more specific to the fic, so if you have concerns, please check out the end note for specifics because they are spoilers. The end note’s also where the chapter title gets explained, as usual.
> 
> Also, please note that there are headcanons _everywhere_ in this fic. Thanks for reading!

Everything was heavy.  His body, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the pressure of Hallelujah’s repeated attacks on his mental barricades—they were all just so _heavy._ And Allelujah was really, really tired.

 ** _Let me out!_** Hallelujah repeated.

With his relatives safely out of the way, Allelujah gave up control.

Super-soldiers were designed to be able to shove one personality in a box in the back of their mind while the other was in control, but Allelujah and Hallelujah’s arrangement had never quite worked like that.  He was pretty sure that, as much as Hallelujah’s sadistic tendencies, were what had gotten them earmarked for disposal.  Super-soldiers were supposed to be like Soma Pieres had been—utterly unaware that another personality had ever existed. But from the moment that Hallelujah formed, until Allelujah’s head injury during Fallen Angels, neither had ever been truly alone in their consciousness.

So, while Allelujah couldn’t access the parts of his brain that controlled his body, he still had the ability to be _aware_ , in a bleary sort of way.  He could still see and use the rest of his senses.  But no matter how hard he tried, it was dulled, slightly, compared to perceiving it all himself—almost as if Hallelujah soaked up the brightest part of the sensations when he perceived them.  Still, he _could_ see everything, if he wanted to—he just couldn’t interact, unless he took control back from Hallelujah by force—and he knew he wasn’t strong enough to, not right now.

“Heh, the wimp finally stopped fighting me,” Hallelujah said.

“Hallelujah,” Saji said, drawing back slightly.

“Nice to see you, too, Crossroad,” Hallelujah snapped.

“Don’t even think about going back there and talking to them,” Marie said firmly.

“Geez, you’re all so determined to keep me away from them!” Hallelujah said, an edge to his tone.  “A guy could get the idea he wasn’t liked!”

“I know you think you’re protecting yourself and Allelujah—” Marie started.

“I am!” Hallelujah interrupted.  “If they want their baby Arystan or whoever back, the first thing they oughta know is that there’s someone else living in his head with him!  It was one thing with Celestial Being; that was because of the rules, but there’s no reason—”

“Hallelujah, I don’t know how you see yourself,” Marie said.  “I haven’t actually asked.  But if you see yourself as a person…right now, at least…that’s not how they’re going to see you.”

“Whaddya talking about?” Hallelujah demanded.

“They’re going to see you as another horrible thing that the Institute did to Allelujah,” Marie said. “That’s all.  They don’t have experience with super-soldiers, or people who’ve been experimented on…they won’t know how to react.  And if they react badly, I don’t think you can promise that you won’t react badly in return.”

“Why are you all so _worried_ about that?” Hallelujah asked.  “I wanna meet ‘em, not kill ‘em, what’s giving you the opposite idea?”

“You have a history of…overreacting, to things that upset Allelujah,” Marie pointed out.

“He wanted to destroy that place, too, he was just too high-and-mighty to admit it to himself without some help,” Hallelujah sulked. 

“This situation and that situation are completely different,” Marie said.  “You aren’t in danger.”

“Aren’t we?” Hallelujah asked, and Allelujah could feel his focus sharpening.  “Can you _guarantee_ that if they react badly to me they won’t be able to do anything that will end up hurting us?”

Marie didn’t answer.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Hallelujah said, a smirk of satisfaction curling his lips.  “All I’m asking for is a chance to meet ‘em and find out before my other self gets so wrapped up in playing happy families that the lets his guard down when he shouldn’t.  He’s turning civilian on me and one of us has to be paying attention.”

“You’re both supposed to be turning civilian,” Saji said, exasperated.  “You fought to end wars.  That’s what happened.  There is no other choice besides civilian now!”

“You really think I’m _ever_ gonna be able to be described by the word civilian,” Hallelujah said.  “Wow, you’re an idiot.” He turned back to Marie.  “I want to meet them.  Now.”

Soma’s flat countenance flashed over Marie’s face.  “Patience is a virtue,” she spat.

“Be that way,” Hallelujah retorted, shoving Allelujah back into control.

“I’m back,” he said, softly.  “Sorry.”

“You did well,” Marie said.  “I know you have trouble holding him back when he gets like that.”

Allelujah reviewed the conversation, the memories now sharper in his mind.  “I’m not that indecisive,” he said.

Marie laughed softly.  “Now I _know_ you’re tired,” she said.  “You should sleep.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The next morning, Allelujah woke up to the smell of cooking rice and the sounds of conversation in the kitchen.  The Institute had required him to wake up quickly, and Celestial Being had been the same way, so he was up and dressed in a few minutes.

He always felt most comfortable in tight t-shirts and pants, like what he’d been accustomed to wearing on Ptolemaios…but he wanted his brother and aunt to feel at ease, so maybe looking a little softer at the edges wouldn’t hurt.  So he put on a loose-fitting t-shirt, a blue hoodie, and a pair of jeans, and went to join whoever was in the kitchen.

It turned out to be everyone else.  Samal had taken over cooking, though she looked somewhat suspicious of the rice cooker.  Marie and Arman were talking, though Allelujah didn’t feel like eavesdropping to catch the subject.  He suspected it was him, anyhow, and he’d had about enough of _that_ last night.

Arman’s smile was bright, if strained, when he caught sight of Allelujah.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning,” Allelujah replied.  He glanced toward Samal.  “Thanks for starting breakfast.”

“You’re welcome,” Samal said, the gentleness in her tone clearly deliberate. “Are you feeling better than you were last night?”

Allelujah nodded.  “Sleeping helped,” he said.

“I guess you didn’t sleep that well the night before, huh?” Arman said.  “I know I didn’t.  I was pretty nervous about coming here…and, well, being on a plane didn’t really help matters…”

Allelujah _had_ slept well the night before last, because he hadn’t known his relatives were going to show up out of nowhere.  Looking at it that way, and given how much more trouble he had keeping a lid on Allelujah when he was exhausted, he could almost see Ms. Sumeragi’s logic.  _Almost_.

He shrugged vaguely, then asked, “Did you sleep well?”

Arman echoed his vague shrug, then laughed.  “What do you know, I guess we have more in common than our features.”

“Just now, you looked like mirror images,” Marie remarked.

“You both shrug like your father when you’re trying to avoid answering a question,” Samal said, a faint smile on her lips.

Allelujah’s eyes flew to her, shocked.  “Really?”

“Yes,” Samal said.  “He wasn’t really good at coming up with lies, but he was quite good at leaving things out.  I noticed it last night, but I didn’t want to push you when you already seemed so nervous.”

“I remember that, a little bit,” Arman said.  “Mom yelling at him, and him just sort of shrugging and then trying to distract her with a craft project I’d done. I was pretty little…He didn’t shrug like that so much, during the war.”

Allelujah tried to picture the two of them, arguing in some home he’d probably seen but could no longer remember, but it ended the same way it always did—with his parents’ features constantly shifting and blurry, and consisting of bits and pieces of the faces of people he knew. 

He took a deep breath.  “Could you describe them?  Like, what they, um, looked like?”

Arman stared for a few seconds, then shook his head.  “I-I mean, I could try, I’ve never been as good at that sort of—”

“Arman, we have photographs, remember?” Samal said, gently.

“ _Photographs?_ ” Allelujah echoed, knowing that his voice probably squeaked slightly on that last syllable.

 ** _Unless you were planning to check out and let me take over, you better get ahold of yourself_** **,** Hallelujah hissed in his thoughts.

He felt Marie’s hand on his arm.  “I’d like to see too.”

Arman pulled out his phone and flicked through the pictures on it, as Allelujah shoved down a completely irrational surge of jealousy that had Hallelujah cackling in the back of his mind. 

“Here,” Arman said softly, passing the phone to Allelujah.

Allelujah took a deep breath, reminded himself that he had enhanced strength and that he didn’t know how sturdy the phone was, and then let himself focus on the image.

A man and woman stood side-to-side, beaming at the camera.  The woman’s face was round and dark like Samal’s.  Her dark chestnut-brown bangs were swept to the side, and the rest of her hair tumbled down well past broad, almost muscular shoulders.  She glanced at her husband, brown eyes crinkled with humor.  She wore a plush-looking green sweater and a full-length grey corduroy skirt.  The man next to her was obviously where both sons had gotten their height, their curly dark hair and their grey eyes.  He cut his hair short, though, and it barely brushed the collar of his button-up shirt.  In comparison to his young-looking wife, his face was obviously lined, though the stubble on his face was still dark against his light tan skin.  One of his hands was tucked into his khaki pants and the other was wrapped around his wife’s waist.

Almost unconsciously, Allelujah’s fingers brushed the screen.  “They look happy.”

“They were, back then,” Arman said softly.

“What were their names?” Allelujah asked. 

“…Umit and Temir,” Arman said, a little thickly.

 _Which name goes to which?_ Allelujah wondered. _Do I ask, and risk telling Arman that I don’t even know enough about my own language to figure out the gender of names?_

“Ms. Sumeragi said your patronymic was Temirovich, so that means your father is Temir, and your mother is Umit, right?” Marie asked.

 _Thank heaven for Marie_ , Allelujah thought for the thousandth time.

“That’s right,” Arman said.

“What did they do?” Allelujah asked.  “They look like professionals.”

“They were university professors,” Arman said.

“Really?” Allelujah asked.

“Yeah,” Arman said. “The university they worked at—the whole town it was in, really—was overrun during the war.  We had to flee to the countryside.”

“Do you remember the university?” Marie asked gently.

“Not really,” Arman said, looking at his knees.

“What were they like?” Allelujah asked.

“Mom was strong,” Arman said.  “Stronger than you’d believe.  She was always doing weight training to keep fit before the war, and once we had to run, she was the one that defended us, more often than not.  It didn’t hurt that no one expected that out of a lady humanities professor.”

Allelujah looked again at his mother’s broad shoulders again, and saw the strength lurking in them.

“Father was kind, but not soft,” Arman said. “He expected the best of people, even in the middle of horror, and he wasn’t afraid to look them in the eye and tell them he thought they could be better.  But he wasn’t naïve. When he had to, he would help Mom defend us.”

“I’m sorry to bring up all of this,” Allelujah said.  “I just…”

“You want to know them,” Arman said.  “I understand.”

“Before the war, the two of them were dedicated to their fields,” Samal said.  “Your mother loved teaching; your father was more interested in his research.  It was why they made such a good team.”

“What did they study?” Marie asked.

“Philosophy,” Samal said.

“That’s so _cool_ ,” Allelujah said.

“What, are you interested in philosophy?” Samal asked.

Before he could answer Samal, Allelujah’s phone rang.  He looked around, alarmed, and saw it laying on the kitchen table.  How it had gotten there from the table in the living room after yesterday’s disaster of a phonecall, he wondered.

Ms. Sumeragi’s name was flashing on the projected viewscreen.

“What’s she calling about _this_ time?” he half-growled, running to pick up the call.

“Maybe Setsuna’s come back from space and is visiting, too?” Marie suggested.

“Not helping, Marie!” Allelujah snapped as he pressed the “accept call” button.  “Ms. Sumeragi?” he asked.

The woman’s face popped up in the projection, her expression bright.  “Allelujah, how are you doing?”

“I’m all right,” he replied, half-automatically, half-paying attention to the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Oh, Arman, Samal!” Ms. Sumeragi exclaimed.  “It’s nice to finally talk in person.”

Arman’s tone was guarded.  “Hello.”

“I was calling to ask how the visit was going,” Ms. Sumeragi said.  “I guess you’ve told him about Celestial Being, at least.”

“Yeah,” Allelujah said.

“Well, no one’s locked in a room, so it went better than it did between Saji and Setsuna!” Ms. Sumeragi said cheerily. 

Arman made an alarmed sound.

“Ms. Sumeragi, don’t put it like that!” Allelujah said.  “At least give a little context or something!”

Ms. Sumeragi sniffed dismissively.  “It’s more fun watching your brother make shocked faces,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Allelujah said, turning to Arman, whose expression was probably as flustered as Allelujah’s usually was when confronted with Ms. Sumeragi’s teasing.  “She’s always like this; if you let her, she’ll start teasing you too.  She doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“But—locked in a room?” Samal asked, dumbfounded.

“Saji was a security risk for a little while,” Allelujah said.  “It feels like violating his privacy to get into it.”

“So he’s met Saji,” Ms. Sumeragi said, delighted.  “Louise, too?”

Allelujah turned back to the phone and nodded.

“She’s a sweet girl,” Samal put in.

“Sweet,” Ms. Sumeragi repeated, a bit dubious.

“I hope that having attacked Ptolemaios in the past doesn’t disqualify a person from being sweet,” Marie said, with just a hint of steel to her tone.

Ms. Sumeragi made a noncommittal noise.  “But, it sounds like you really talked about a lot with them.”

 _Oh no_ , Allelujah thought, alarmed.  _Please, just…stop meddling._

 ** _Not likely and you know it,_** Hallelujah pointed out.

“We got through most of the bad things,” Arman said.  His expression was a little worried as he added, “Well, at least I hope so.”

_Well, most of it except for—_

Ms. Sumeragi cocked her head to one side.  “Even Hallelujah?”

“What do you mean?” Arman asked.  “We know his name.  Feldt was the one who told us it.”

 _No_ , Allelujah thought, frantic. _Not now, not like this.  We were having such a good morning.  Everything was nice.  They weren’t exactly thinking of me as normal, but…Trauma is something they can understand.  They even managed to accept my being part of Celestial Being.  But this will be too much._

 ** _You really don’t think they’ll understand?_** Hallelujah asked, tone oddly sharp.

 _Normal people aren’t like this,_ Allelujah thought, distressed.  _What the Institute had to do to create you, the fact that you exist at all…some people wouldn’t even be able to understand it._

 ** _You said you’d let me meet them when they were ready,_** Allelujah replied, mental tone laced with anger.

_I did…I will…but, they…Hallelujah, now is not that time, there’s too much new information—I don’t know if they’ll ever be ready but they definitely aren’t now!_

**_Don’t know if they’ll ever be ready,_** Hallelujah echoed, tone flat and cold.  **_Were you just planning to lie forever?_**

 _I-I don’t know_ what _I was planning; I just don’t want them to run off screaming_ … Allelujah managed, frantic.

 ** _Unfortunately, I don’t care,_** Hallelujah replied.  **_Explain to them. Now.  Or let me meet them._**

He was losing control of the situation.  Maybe of Hallelujah, too.  He directed enough attention to his hands to hang up the phone, barely noticing Sumeragi’s indignant squeak as her image flickered out of existence.

Marie was staring at him, in obvious, knowing concern, but Arman and Samal’s expressions were equally confused, Arman’s in particular colored with a hint of alarm.

“What was she talking about?” Arman asked.

 _I-I can’t,_ Allelujah thought.  _He’s going to hate me or be scared or…it’s just, it’s not going to end well and I_ can’t _deal with that, not when I only had about ten hours of a family that wanted anything to do with me, unless you count the parts I can’t remember._

**_So you aren’t going to tell them._ **

_I…I can’t do it.  Just let me avoid it this time, please; I promise I’ll tell them later, I just—_

**_That option’s off the table,_** Hallelujah replied, tone chill and menacing all at once.  **_Now either you get out of control or I push you out.  If you can’t explain, I will_**.

_No!_

**_Pushing it is, then_** **,** Hallelujah thought, and an image of a smile shining brilliant-white in shadows flickered through Allelujah’s consciousness.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

In a second, everything about Allelujah—his expression, his posture, _everything—_ shifted, and Arman felt the ground shifting under his feet.

It wasn’t the first time.

People met Arman, saw him holding a job, calmer and more personable than half of his co-workers, and thought he’d recovered from his PTSD—but that really wasn’t how it worked.  He just had a lot of good days, which he could chalk up to the therapy and living with Aunt Samal, who understood well enough to help him when he needed it.  But he still had bad days, too, sometimes even strings of them—days when there were fireworks in the next town, or the news was too full of violence and it brought back bad memories, or the air felt wrong, or…sometimes, he had no real excuse, but he just felt under threat.  Sometimes he ended up skittish, sometimes he ended up irrationally angry or oddly moody…he’d gotten better about _noticing_ when the emotions he was feeling weren’t really a product of what was happening at the moment, and about not lashing out while he tried to work through them, but that didn’t mean that he’d banished them entirely.

It wasn’t rational, and he knew it wasn’t rational.  There was always a tiny voice in the back of his head shouting “It’s a _shuttle,_ you know it’s a shuttle,” a few minutes after he mistook Aigerim’s jerky movements at the loom for a knife slashing in the air, the same one that sighed every time he needed to leave a too-crowded room and barked, “There’s food in the kitchen, _calm down_ ,” when he found himself slipping bits of bread into the folds of his clothing on long-suppressed impulse.  It yelled that the sun was _not_ shining that brightly just to annoy him on days when his temper was haywire, and that he needed to get up and eat on days when his mood sank.  He was doing well enough to usually recognize when his PTSD was responsible for something going sideways in his brain, and well enough that it happened a _lot_ less than it had when he was a kid.  But while he might go for days, weeks, sometimes even a blessedly peaceful month, without a day like that, there was always another one.  Always.

That day hadn’t _quite_ been one.  He wouldn’t deny that he’d had some really nasty nightmares the night before—but who wouldn’t, after what Allelujah had told them?  And talking about his parents was always difficult.  It took him to mental places he didn’t really like to visit, and, yes, some _were_ related to his PTSD.

But it hadn’t been one of _those_ days.  Not really.  Not until Allelujah had stumbled backward after hanging up on Ms. Sumeragi, and then looked up at them with the eyes of someone who wouldn’t mind killing everyone else in the room if it got him what he wanted.  Arman knew what eyes like those looked like.  He’d seen them before.

He was on his feet and between his brother and his aunt before his conscious mind could even catch up with what he was doing. He had no idea what eyes like those were doing on Allelujah’s face but he wasn’t about to let _anyone_ wearing that expression anywhere near the woman who’d raised him. 

Allelujah slunk closer, something predatory in every single movement he made.  His lips stretched into a smile that was possibly more joyous than any expression Arman had seen on his face yet, but it was a little too _sharp_ to trust. 

The murderous look in his eyes shifted—or maybe it just receded, replaced by focused curiosity, all of it centered on Arman.  Arman felt his stomach flip inside of him.  He was trembling, his breath coming in short gasps that made his entire body shudder, but he knew he had to stand his ground.  Samal wouldn’t realize how dangerous Allelujah was right now.  Maybe, how dangerous he’d always been.

And suddenly, just like that, Arman was back in the midst of the Solar Energy Wars.  It wasn’t a flashback—not with the danger to Samal and himself and the sheer volume of his own thudding heart grounding him here.  It was a return to that feeling of being in constant danger, of not being able to trust his surroundings to be safe or dependable.  That tiny logical voice had nothing to say now; his paranoia was justified and, moreover, he hadn’t had enough of it, if _this_ had been able to happen without his realizing it.  It was the same sick combination of terror and the ground shifting between his feet as he’d felt during the Solar Energy Wars, at first just every few days and then, slowly, almost insidiously, every single second.  It was the same one that had dogged his steps to the safety of Samal’s house and left him pocketing kitchen knives before he left the house and stowing food in corners until the house was infested with mice.

This was what had come of watching other lost and orphaned children search battlefields for the dead men’s money, of walking through the bombed out and abandoned remains of town after town that he’d once visited for weekend trips, of seeing the man who used to sell them groceries try to stab his father to take the milk they’d been saving for little Arystan, who didn’t understand food shortages—

Little Arystan, who was now grown-up and broken in more ways than Arman knew, thanks to-- _Oh Allah_ , _it was the Institute, wasn’t it?_

Whatever was wrong with Allelujah, now, Arman would bet that the Institute was to blame for it.  Of course they were.  It made more sense, than the gentle, shy brother he’d met.  The Institute wouldn’t have raised him that way.  They would’ve created something terrifying.  Something like this.

“So, I finally get to meet you,” Allelujah drawled, a laugh threaded through his voice.

Arman didn’t show his confusion.  He didn’t show _anything_ , other than the breathing he couldn’t quite get under control.  Was this the real Allelujah, or was the one he’d met earlier his true personality?  He hoped for the latter…but the former was a real possibility, now.

“He’s all worried about you, but you’d go down fighting, wouldn’t you?” Allelujah asked, rhetorically.  “I’d enjoy that fight, too—you look tough.  But he’d probably kill us both if I tried it.”

 _Who’s ‘he’?_ Arman wondered, hopelessly confused.

“Don’t I get to meet Ms. Samal?” he asked, a sarcastic lilt to the honorific.

“While you’re like this, stay away from her,” Arman said, voice shaking only slightly.  “Allelujah, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m _not_ that loser,” Allelujah said.  “Name’s Hallelujah Haptism, here to do the dirty work, _as usual._ ”

Like Ms. Sumeragi, he noticeably pronounced the “H.”

He glared in Marie’s direction.  Marie met his glare with one of her own and reached, very deliberately, toward a paring knife in the draining board near the sink.  Allelujah—Hallelujah?—scowled, and turned back toward Arman.

 “See, what your brother doesn’t want to tell you is that the Super-Soldier Institute didn’t really want _him_ , they wanted his body, but with a better soldier in it,” Hallelujah said.  “I think they might’ve been going for brainwashing the kids, but they ended up replacing their old personalities with brand-new soldier-y ones instead.  Which apparently was close enough for them.  Of course, if the new personality is actually a _personality_ instead of a order-loving blank slate, and the old one isn’t as gone as it’s supposed to be, well, then it’s gotta _die_.”

He spread out his hands.  “And that’s why they were gonna kill us.”

“Hallelujah, did you ask Alle before you said _any_ of this?” Marie demanded.

“Nah, he’s screamin’ for me to shut up,” Hallelujah said, grin twisting unpleasantly.  “All I was supposed to do was introduce myself, but it’s not like I’ve ever been good at followin’ orders!”

“We spoke about this last night!” Marie snapped.

 _Spoke about what?_  Arman wondered, intrigued despite himself.

“Oh, get off of your high horse, Soma Pieres,” Hallelujah replied.  He turned back to Arman.  “So, whaddya think? I will warn you—if I don’t like the answer, I might have to kill you.” He paused.  “And I might enjoy it.  Nothing personal.”

And then, just like that, the smile vanished.  The murderous eyes turned blank and the predatory set of the shoulders dissolved into a formless slouch. It was as if someone had pulled out Hallelujah’s batteries.

And maybe that’s exactly what someone had done, because only moments later, Allelujah’s eyes, unmistakably haunted and distant and yet oddly soft, stared back at him, horrified. 

“God, I am so sorry,” Allelujah breathed, and Arman couldn’t tell if it was an apology or a confession to whatever deity Allelujah worshipped.

And, with that, his brother bolted from the room.

“I think it would be best if you went over to Saji and Louise’s for a while,” Marie said carefully, expression strained, as she approached Arman.  Her steps were slow and her movements were exaggeratedly smooth.

Belatedly, he realized that his breathing was still quick, shallow, and extremely audible, even over the heartbeat filling his ears.  Strands of his hair had slipped from the headband and were falling, loose, into his eyes.  He doubted Samal looked—

 _Samal!_ he thought, frantic, turning to check on her.  She was pale and wide-eyed, and she trembled slightly against his grip when he grasped her by the shoulders and asked, “Are you all right?”

She shook her head, apparently not trusting herself to speak.

“Yes, thank you,” Arman said, turning back toward Marie.  “I think that would be a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Batyr”_ is a Kazakh word I’ve seen translated variously as “hero” “warrior” and “knight.” It’s often attached to the names of historical and legendary figures who did great things. Such figures often feature prominently in the stories told by _akyn._
> 
> The specific concerns readers might have during this chapter that I mentioned in the opening note are:  
>     
> 1\. Some discussion of grief/mourning, but nothing too heavy.  
> 2\. A decently detailed discussion of PTSD, which I did my best to research (I apologize and welcome suggestions if I made any mistakes).  
> 3\. An instance of Hallelujah taking control pretty roughly and then issuing verbal threats.
> 
> I apologize for the cliffhanger. Try not to hate me too much, okay? 
> 
> (My askbox at [ninthfeather.tumblr.com](https://ninthfeather.tumblr.com) is available for yelling in, as is the comment section.)


	5. Stejok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final story chapter—the next chapter after this is just a short epilogue. So thanks, everyone, for staying with the story. It really is appreciated! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did.
> 
> In the way of warnings, it’s mostly canon-typical awfulness and the characters being in the kind of unpleasant mental states you’d expect after last chapter’s events. Some discussion of PTSD, too, and again—while I researched, I'm always looking for more feedback, especially since this fic's unbeta-ed.

Seated at the kitchen table, Saji made another note on the schematic he was examining, then glanced over his shoulder as a loud, sharp knock sounded on the door.

“It’s _early_ ,” Louise said, distressed, glaring at the door over her half-finished breakfast.  “What could’ve gone wrong this quickly?”

Saji raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, fine, just—go answer the door,” Louise said. “I refuse to admit I’m awake for another half an hour.”

Saji stood, and made his way to the door, as a second knock, this one softer, followed the first.  Slowly, he opened the door, and then couldn’t quite keep himself from drawing parallels between this sight and the one that had greeted him yesterday.  Once again, his doorway held a pale-haired woman and a dark-skinned man, one more visibly shaken than the other.  Though, this time they _both_ looked freaked out—and this time, Saji had at least some idea of why.

“Come in,” he said, softly.  “We have some coffee, if you want it.”

“T-that would be good,” Samal said, voice shaky, as she followed her nephew into the apartment.

Arman was _shaking_ , Saji noticed.  _Hallelujah_ _must’ve come out.  And Allelujah didn’t get to explain first—_

“What did they do to him?” Arman asked, voice tight with intensity as he sat down on the couch.  Samal settled next to him, an almost vacant expression on her face. 

Saji blinked. “What?”

“It was the SSI, wasn’t it?” Arman all but spat.  “What _was_ that?  What did they _do?_ ”

“Arman, I don’t know what happened,” Saji said.  “I…I _think_ I can guess, but I don’t want to give you the wrong explanation if I’m wrong.”

“Coffee,” Louise interrupted, setting down two full mugs in front of Samal and Arman.  Samal gave the oven mitt over her prosthetic a curious look, but Louise ignored it.

“He—I—” Arman bit out something in his own language that had to be an expletive, then continued, “he _changed_.  The look in his eyes, it said that he would kill us and enjoy it.  He said that he was another personality, that he’d been created by the Institute—is that what happened?”

He was still shaking, and he looked ready to either start shouting or crying.

“Take a drink of coffee, please,” Saji said, trying to make his voice soothing.  “You sound like me after the first time I was in a mobile suit.”

Arman pursed his lips, but took a drink—and then made a face.  “Maybe coffee means something different in Japan?” he said, weakly.  “This…is not what I think of, when I say coffee.”

Samal tried her own drink.  “It’s Union-style coffee,” she reported, her voice still brittle but stronger than it had been.  “You wouldn’t know because you don’t travel much, but this is how coffee tastes in a lot of different countries.”

Saji flushed.  “I learned how to make coffee from my sister, and she learned it from her boss—who was from the Union,” he admitted.  “I guess coffee in Kazakhstan is different?”

“Our area of the country drinks a lot of Arabic-style coffee,” Samal said, a bit of the color coming back into her cheeks now.  “It has more caffeine, but the flavor isn’t this bitter.”

“Oh, that explains—wait, no, that explains the coffee, but not Allelujah,” Arman said.  “I’ll ask again, and _answer_ this time—is what he told me true?”  He was no longer trembling, but his voice was, just slightly.

“It was,” Louise said, before Saji could think of a proper reply.

“I’m very sorry…” Saji started.

“Sorry?” Arman asked, incredulous, his accent thickening as the volume of his speech rose.  “Inside my brother’s head is a killer and you are sorry?  You did not put it there, and you cannot take it out.  No one can.  Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“To make better soldiers,” Louise said.  “You’d be amazed what people are willing to do to make better soldiers.”  She rubbed her arm, just above where prosthetic met skin.

“So, when he said he didn’t want any more super-soldiers…” Samal said softly.

“This is what he meant by super-soldier,” Louise said.

“And, the one we were talking to, it really was not him,” Arman said softly.

“No, Hallelujah’s separate from him,” Saji said.  “They’ve agreed on things and cooperated before, but they’re not the same person.”

“What could Allelujah agree with _that_ on?” Arman demanded.

“Hallelujah’s had goals other than just violence,” Saji said.  “One of the bigger ones is protecting himself and Allelujah.  He’s been trying to meet you since you showed up because he was convinced that you were going to become a threat to the two of them once you found out about him.”

“And that’s why he looked ready to kill?” Arman asked, eyes haunted.

Saji nodded. _It’s easy to forget that this guy saw a war too.  Even if it didn’t mess him up as badly as Setsuna or Allelujah, I’m sure it still left scars._

“And Allelujah?” Samal asked

Saji stared at her.

“What did Allelujah think we would do when we found out?” Samal asked quietly.

Saji grimaced.  “I think he was worried about being rejected,” he said, avoiding her eyes.

Samal paled.  “That’s what…he said, _Hallelujah_ said, that the reason the Institute tried to kill hi—them—oh, I don’t know how to talk about this—but that it was because Hallelujah hadn’t come out correctly.”

Saji stilled, certain that the thumping he heard in his ears was his heartbeat.  “I don’t know that he’s ever said anything about that to me, but it doesn’t sound like a lie…”

“It’s true,” Louise said softly.

Saji turned to her, surprised.  She offered him a sheepish smile.

“You know about how I was, when we first came here,” Louise said.  “Allelujah noticed, too.  That I was ashamed of what I’d become.  He thought it might help, for me to know that I wasn’t the only failed experiment in the apartment building.”  She laughed, a little bitterly, and then turned toward Samal and Arman.  “Don’t worry, I’m the only one in here,” she said, tapping on her head.  “But the pills that were supposed to make me evolve into the next stage of humanity just made me sick.”

No one spoke for a few seconds.

“I take it you didn’t consent to _that_ either?” Armand asked, voice fairly crackling with suppressed anger.

“I thought they were medicine,” Louise said, smile sharp.  “You can pin that one on the A-Laws.”

Carefully, Saji covered her hand with his.  She stiffened, but didn’t pull away.

“Naturally,” Arman half-growled, fists tightening and loosening at his sides.

Samal wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  “Arman…” she said slowly, almost carefully.

Arman took several deep breaths and lowered his eyes to his lap.  “Just…why is this world so _awful?_ ”

“That’s philosophy, and honestly, you’re better off talking about it with your brother than either of us,” Saji said.

Arman looked up, now more surprised than upset.  “Really?”

Saji nodded.  “The Meisters talked about that sort of thing more than you’d expect.  Setsuna and Allelujah especially.  They were always talking about ‘the twistedness in this world’ and where it started…a lot of it required context I didn’t have, and a lot of it’s classified now, but…I think for them, talking about why they were fighting was a way of trying to be sure that they were fighting for their own reasons, and not someone else’s.”

“Because he was made into a soldier for someone else’s reasons,” Arman said.

“I’m guessing that’s why, yeah,” Saji said.

Arman made a frustrated noise.  “This is wrong.  This is all wrong.  I want to get to know my brother again but now I’m terrified of the idea of talking to him.  Because I know what he can become, now.”

“He’ll understand,” Saji said.

“I think that makes it worse,” Arman said weakly.  “Because he shouldn’t have to.  He shouldn’t _expect_ people being afraid of him.”

Saji wasn’t sure what to say, and he was finding it harder and harder to keep eye contact with Arman.

“I came here to see Arystan again,” Arman said, eyes dropping to his cup of coffee as he mechanically placed it back on the small table in front of him.  “But I didn’t really think through what all these years—with the SSI, with the military—must’ve done to him.” His voice trembled slightly.  “I thought I did, but I didn’t.  I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” Louise said, firmly.

“You should at least try again,” Saji put in.  “I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Arman smiled weakly. “I think you’re right about that, at least.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Allelujah had no idea how long it had been since Arman and Samal left.  It wasn’t like it really mattered, after all. They would probably only be coming back for their luggage.  Or maybe they’d just send Saji to get it.  That seemed more likely, really. 

Why would they possibly come back into his apartment, now that they knew exactly what he was?

Absently, he curled up on the living room couch, thighs flat against his stomach and arms wrapped around his ankles.  He still felt ill, just remembering it.  How Arman had stepped between Hallelujah and Samal almost immediately, because he figured out that he was a threat.  How Arman was trying not to show fear, while Hallelujah read it in every stiffened muscle in his body, and _reveled_ in it.  Hallelujah’s taunts, Arman’s cautious, confused responses, Samal’s utter terror—and Allelujah’s desperate fight to _keep his other self quiet_.

In the end, he’d only gotten up the strength to wrest back control when Hallelujah started making threats.  But enough damage had already been done. The threats were out there, along with the truth about what Hallelujah—and by extension Allelujah—was.  Everything was ruined now. 

 _Well, I had a biological family for less than twenty-four hours_ , he thought, trying to make the best of it.  _It was kind of nice, but, really, super-soldiers aren’t meant to have those sorts of things.  I still have comrades who care about me, and Marie, and that’s been enough until now.  It’ll keep being enough._

 ** _So, does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?_** Hallelujah asked, mocking.

 _No, it means that I’m still extremely angry at you, and you’re very lucky that you don’t have a physical body because then I’d be dealing with temptation to murder instead of just wrath,_ Allelujah replied curtly.  _I’m finished yelling at you, and I will forgive you, eventually, but it’s going to take me a little while to let go of the way that you threatened my brother’s life and ruined my chances at a relationship with him.  Shut up now._

**_Geez, don’t get all worked up—_ **

“Shut up!” Allelujah snapped aloud—and flushed, as he felt Marie’s eyes land on him.

“Sorry,” he said softly.

“Alle…” Marie started.

“It’s—there’s not much that can be done about it, is there?” he said.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be sad about it, though,” Marie said gently, coming to sit down next to him.

“I’ve killed thousands of people,” Allelujah said.  “I lost the right to—”

“We’ve both thought like that before,” Marie said.  “But it’s not right, and you know it.  We’re not just killing machines, and whatever it looks like to atone, it’s not ignoring your own feelings and hurting yourself on purpose.  Weren’t you going to try to improve the world, to make up for the people you’ve hurt?  Hurting yourself doesn’t do that.”

“Maybe not, but…I’m not allowed to be upset about it,” Allelujah said.

“Why?” Marie said.

“Because, it’s like the Institute, or A-Law prison,” he said.  “If I ever really let myself think about how upset I should be, I might never stop being upset.”

“Oh, Alle…” Marie said softly, carding a hand through his hair.

“I mean, I learned my name, and a little about my parents, I should be so grateful,” Allelujah said, voice muffled by his jeans.  His eyes were getting moist and he didn’t want to wipe at them because that would be acknowledging the start of tears.  “But—really, I just wanted to get to know _them_ , and I barely did.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Allelujah startled, somehow ending up on his feet without even realizing he’d done it.

Another knock followed the first, and Allelujah swallowed dryly.  “I’ll go back to the bedroom,” he said.

“But—” Marie started.

“See you in a little while, Marie,” Allelujah said softly.  “Tell them I said goodbye?”

Marie nodded, frowning.

He was halfway to the bedroom when he heard Arman’s voice shout his name.  On instinct, he turned on his heel, falling into a defensive stance without even thinking.

There, in the narrow hallway of his apartment, was his brother, unmistakably flinching away from him.

Allelujah felt his throat get thick with tears that were _not_ going to show in his eyes and stepped back slowly, so as not to startle Arman.  But, to his surprise, Arman stepped forward, hesitant and just a bit nervous, but most of all determined.

“I’m going to be a little nervous, now,” Arman said.  “Because of what happened.  It’s…the PTSD, and things that I have to work through on my own, and…you can forgive me that much, right?”

Allelujah choked on his next breath, and a few of those unshed tears made it out despite his best effort.  “Me, forgive _you_?” he asked.  “Arman, you don’t need to apologize for being frightened by that.  _Anyone_ would be frightened by that.  I’m the one who should be apologizing.”  He took a deep breath.  “And you…you should probably just be staying away from me.”

Arman frowned, biting his lower lip.  “Is that really what you want?”

 _No._ “It’s what’s best,” Allelujah managed.

“It’s _not,_ ” Arman said.  He frowned, and worried the hem of his shirt between his fingers.  “Allelujah, we knew when we came that this wasn’t going to be easy.  We weren’t ready for it to be quite this _much_ , but…we wanted to get to know you, no matter how hard that ended up being.”

“Why?” Allelujah asked, staring him in the eyes.  “Arman, Hallelujah threatened you.  I won’t _ever_ let him hurt you, but I can’t promise he won’t get loose and say things again.  That’s what a relationship with me is going to mean.”

“You just said you won’t let him hurt me,” Arman said, smiling.

“And I won’t, but he can screw with your mind—”

“Like he’s probably been doing to you?” Arman asked, the smile fading into something like grief.  “Oh, Allelujah…I’m your older brother.  I know you don’t remember me, but…I remember you as a baby.  I remember helping Mom and Dad get enough food to feed you every day, I remember them singing you lullabies.  I remember thinking, _someday it’ll be my job to protect him_.  And I guess I’ve screwed that up past hope.  Because since we’ve gotten here, all that’s been happening is _you_ protecting _me_.”

“Arman?” Allelujah asked carefully.

“When I came over here, I wanted to talk to you, but I was so scared of _him_ , but…it’s even worse for you, isn’t it?” Arman asked, voice cracking as his hands fisted at his sides.  “I still don’t understand anything.”

 _Is it scary, though?_ he wondered.  _I don’t like losing control, or when Hallelujah screws with me, or having to explain this but…not everything about it is bad._

 ** _Aw, you do care_** **,** Hallelujah thought, tone sickly-sweet.

 “It’s not scary, for me, in the same way it is for you,” Allelujah said aloud, ignoring Hallelujah.  “And, I made a mistake too.  I should’ve told you that I had another personality, that he can be dangerous, and that he’d been trying to take over with unusual dedication since you showed up.”

“So, that’s not how it usually is?” Arman asked, looking a little less distressed.

“Ever since the war with the A-Laws, he’s calmed down a lot,” Allelujah explained.  “He isn’t _nice_ , exactly…but he usually only gets that scary about protecting us.  Which, I think, is what he thought he was doing.  I really should’ve warned you, but…I wasn’t sure how you guys would take finding out about him.”

“It does hurt, a little, to know you didn’t trust us,” Arman said quietly.

Allelujah avoided his eyes.  “Arman, he threatened to kill you.  Normal people run screaming from things like this.  Even without all of the other stuff on top of it.”

“But I’m not just a normal person,” Arman insisted.  “I’m your family.  Unless that’s really not what you want.”

 _How is this happening?_ Allelujah thought, thrown.  _It doesn’t even make sense!  He should be terrified of me, not…standing there, looking nervous because he’s afraid_ I’m _going to reject him_.

“I don’t…not want you,” Allelujah said quietly.  “I just don’t want to scare you off.”

“You aren’t what I expected when I came here,” Arman said plainly, surprising Allelujah.  “You terrified me earlier, I’m probably going to keep flinching around you, and I’m going to feel horrible about it _every single time_ because you do not deserve that.”

“It’s natural to—”

“There’s nothing natural about what was done to you; _Allah_ , I don’t understand how you aren’t angrier about it,” Arman said, voice strained to the point of breaking as he gestured almost helplessly.  “But it’s not your fault, I can’t believe you don’t know that, so know that I don’t think it is, either.  You were just a child when they took you, you didn’t ask for this…”

 ** _He still thinks frickin’ baby Arystan’s in here somewhere or something.  Idiot_** **,** Hallelujah proclaimed.

 _Shut up,_ Allelujah replied firmly.  _He knows the Arystan he was looking for isn’t here.  That’s why he’s so upset._

“I didn’t, but it’s what happened,” Allelujah said softly.  “You didn’t ask to become a refugee, either.  I’m sure it’s not the same, but—hearing about that, knowing that you’d been hurt by the Solar Energy Wars too—that was _exactly_ what I fought to stop, and my brother was a victim before I even had a chance to stop it.”

“Too?” Arman repeated, a bit wild-eyed.  “You said you didn’t remember—what, did they actually have you fight in the wars after they took you?”

“No, no!” Allelujah said quickly, holding up his hands.  “Nothing like that.  But a lot of the people in Celestial Being joined because of things that happened during the Solar Energy Wars.  So, I wanted to believe that if I had a family, that they were far, far away from all of that.”

Arman’s answering smile wasn’t quite a smile at all.  “I wish I could say that _was_ what happened.”

“We’re both adults now, and not everything we’ve gone through to get here has been easy,” Allelujah said.  “But we’re here.  And we were able to meet.  That’s worth thanking God for, right?”

“That’s what your name means,” Arman said quietly.  “ _Alhamdulillah_ —thanks be to God.”

Allelujah traced out that pattern of old, familiar words, Marie’s voice echoing in his memory as he spoke.  “Give thanks for what?  Why, that’s obvious. For being alive.”  _Alive to see my brother and talk to him about this.  Even for someone like me, miracles do happen._

“Allelujah?” Arman asked carefully, a wary expression on his face.

“That’s what it means,” Allelujah explained, feeling a gentle smile spread across his face.  “When Marie gave it to me, she said it meant to give thanks, I asked for what, and that’s what her answer was.  It’s a good name, isn’t it?”

Arman looked less than convinced.  “The idea that all you had to be thankful for was being _alive_ …”

“It wasn’t the only thing,” Allelujah said.  “But I had to be alive to have any of the other things, so…”

“Well, when we found out you were alive…we aren’t that religious, but I was close to thanking God anyhow,” Arman said.

Allelujah was about to wonder aloud at that, at the idea that someone would be so happy at finding _him_ , but then he thought about his own shock at finding out that he’d had living relatives.  And farther back, to that shining moment of hope when he’d thought Lyle was Neil.

“You spent a long time thinking I was dead,” Allelujah said softly.  “I wish…”

“We both wish a lot of things,” Arman said.  “But…there’s something…can you come with me to the spare room with me? I brought something with me that I’d like you to see.”

“Okay,” Allelujah said.

Arman grabbed his hand.  “Stop putting distance between us,” he said.  “I trust you to keep me safe.”

 ** _Is that a challenge?_** Hallelujah asked, perking up in the back of Allelujah’s mind.

 _Stay the h*** away from my brother_ , Allelujah replied, shoving Hallelujah’s presence back and squeezing Arman’s hand as they walked back up the hallway toward the office where Arman’s luggage was.  _He knows about you and he still accepts us.  I don’t know how much more proof you need that he’s not a threat._

Hallelujah sent a vague feeling of dissatisfaction through their mind, but made no verbal retort.

They passed Marie and Samal, who were sitting on the couch, next to one another.  Allelujah couldn’t quite make out their whispered conversation, but Samal looked quiet and resolute instead of terrified, so Marie must have done something—or maybe Saji and Louise had.

 _My friends are amazing_ , Allelujah reflected.

Arman led him into the office, then let go of his hand to kneel on the floor next to his suitcase.  He opened it, and rummaged through the contents gingerly for a few moments, before finally pulling out a piece of multicolored cloth.  He spread it out on the floor.

It was a scarf—a silk one, maybe, since the sheen reminded Allelujah of the way Marie’s silk blouse caught the light.  The base fabric was a pale, dusty brown color, but it was at least half-covered in bright embroidery.  There were two distinct patterns—one marking out a border, and one filling the center field.  The border pattern reminded Allelujah of tangerines a little—bright orange circles alternating with sets of deep green leaves and gradient orange-and-green teardrops that made him think of fresh buds.  The center pattern was more abstract, made up of baroque, swirling lines of blue, orange, green, and white that wove together into diamonds—some of them cut off into triangles by the lines of the boundary, so that only four complete diamonds were visible.

“ _This_ is what you do?” Allelujah breathed, staring at Arman.  “It’s _amazing_!”

Arman blushed.  “I’m glad you like it.”

“The patterns are gorgeous, how do you—”

“The design isn’t mine,” Arman interrupted.  “These are older patterns; I found them in museum collections, put them together, and altered them a little.  Our shop does some historical reproductions, so I’ve gotten good at doing that...it felt right, to give you something more traditional.”

Allelujah ended up seated on the floor next to him without a clear idea of how he’d ended up there.  “Give _me_?” he echoed faintly.

Arman nodded, smiling.  “When I found out we were coming, I wanted to have _something_.  To show you what getting to meet you meant to me.  To…give you a little part of myself, if that makes sense.”

“B-but, it’s so _nice_ , I—” Allelujah stammered.

“Allelujah, there are a lot of things I wasn’t able to do for you,” Arman said.  “And there was a long time when I thought I’d never get to do _anything_ for you, because I didn’t think you were alive.  But you are, and this is something I can do. So, please, let me.”

Allelujah shut his eyes, and tried not to cry, but it didn’t quite work.  “Thank you,” he said.  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything like this to give in return.”

“It’s fine, really,” Arman said, holding up his hands.

Allelujah rubbed at his cheeks a little, ignoring Hallelujah’s mocking laughter in the back of his head.  “It’s not, really.  They tried to make me something that was only good for war, and…it didn’t really _work,_ but, I don’t know how to do anything else, either.  I can’t even make an omelet.”

“Cooking isn’t easy,” Arman said, sympathetic.  “I’ve never been that good at it, either.”

He ran a hand along the embroidery.  “This started as a way to deal with…everything.  But I started just enjoying it for what it was, and, before I knew it, I was good enough to have a job. If I can manage that, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He grinned at Allelujah.  “Now, try it on.”

Grinning back, Allelujah carefully picked up the piece of silk and wrapped it around his neck. The silk was cool and slick against his skin, while the back of the embroidery was warm and slightly plush.  He was sure that, over the blue hoodie he’d put on this morning, it looked a little out of place, but, it was still _beautiful_.

“It really looks nice on you,” Arman observed.  “I wasn’t expecting your eye to have changed color when I did the embroidery, but it worked out well; the orange really goes well with the gold.”  He paused.  “That…it isn’t an injury, or anything?”

“It’s got something to do with the super-soldier process, but I’m not sure how exactly it was related,” Allelujah said, shrugging.  “As far back as my memory goes, it’s been like that.  The eye itself works normally, though.”  _Does that mean I didn’t always have dichromatic eyes?  Huh. At this point, that would almost be weird._

“Well, that’s good, at least,” Arman said.  “But, really, it suits you.”

“I think it would suit _anyone_ ,” Allelujah said with conviction.  “But thank you for giving it to me.”  He fingered the scarf, then added, “Also, thank you for coming.  And for staying.”

“Thank you for having us,” Arman said.

Allelujah was certain that his guilt was showing on his face.

Arman waved a hand.  “I know you were scared about doing it, and I understand why,” he said. “But in the end, you did it anyway, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Allelujah said slowly.  “I did.  And now we’re both here, together.”

“Sitting on the floor of your office when there’s a perfectly good couch less than three meters away,” Arman replied dryly.

Allelujah snorted.  “But Ms. Samal and Marie are using it right now,” he protested jokingly.

“You should call her ‘aunt,’” Arman said, solemn again.

Allelujah looked down.  “Do you really think she’d want—”

“We’ll ask,” Arman said.  “Come on.” He stood, and motioned for Allelujah to follow.

They walked out of the room, and Allelujah startled at Marie’s sudden sharp intake of breath.

“Where did you get _that_?” she asked, eyes wide and obviously focused on his scarf.

“Arman made it,” Allelujah and Samal answered, almost at once.  Allelujah blushed and looked down.

“Oh, Alle, it’s _lovely_ ,” Marie breathed.  “Arman, that is spectacular.  I can see why your aunt is so proud of you.”

Now, Arman was blushing.

“Aunt Samal, Allelujah wants to know if he’s allowed to call you aunt,” Arman said.

“I didn’t say anything as direct as _that_ ,” Allelujah protested, still flushed.

“Please do,” Samal said.

Allelujah blinked.  “But—but I—”

Samal smiled gently at him.  “Marie and I spoke while you boys were talking, and there were some things that Louise and Saji explained before that.  I was frightened earlier, but I know that you didn’t mean for it to happen, and it _certainly_ isn’t a reason to suddenly decide that you aren’t related to me when you are.”

Allelujah bit his lip and stared down at the floor.  “Thank you,” he said, startled by how thick his voice was.

 ** _You’re crying over getting to call someone a title_** **,** Hallelujah thought derisively.  **_Really?_**

 _Maybe someday we’ll get her to let you call her that too_ , Allellujah replied, relishing the flicker of surprise he got in response. _It’ll take years, though, after that first impression._

**_Well maybe if someone hadn’t convinced me I was never gonna get to talk to her…_ **

“Allelujah, are you all right?” Samal asked, carefully. 

“Yeah,” Allelujah said, answering the question honestly for the first time in at least seventy-two hours.  “I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Stejok” means “Stitch.”
> 
> I hope everyone’s satisfied with the ending. I tried, with this fic, to incorporate both my love of long-lost-relative-fantasy fics, and some actual experiences I’ve had with meeting relatives who I basically didn’t remember. And, of course, I wanted to adapt all of it to Allelujah’s unique situation. My goal was to create something that feels real and possible but still has a satisfying, happy ending, and I hope I’ve succeeded.
> 
> I won a contest at gundamc00medy’s tumblr, and was able to commission some art; I chose to ask for [a picture of Allelujah wearing his scarf](http://gundamc00medy.tumblr.com/post/140100620424/this-is-our-prize-to-ninthfeather-and-its-based). 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as [ninthfeather](http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com), and updates on the fic are under the tag [what became of his ancestry](https://www.tumblr.com/search/what+became+of+his+ancestry).
> 
> See you next week for the epilogue!


	6. Epilogue: Bata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic! Here’s the epilogue.

Visiting Kazakhstan was…Allelujah didn’t know what it was.  That was the weird thing.  In the movies that Louise liked to watch, people always had sudden feelings of recognition when they set foot in their homeland, even if it was only an ancestral homeland.  The only feelings Allelujah really had were, _This place kind of reminds me of Azadistan_.

It really did.  You could taste dust in the air, and see the sandy golden-brown soil getting caught up in eddies of wind and dancing over clusters of slightly wilted grass.  Most of the plants here were still brown, though, probably because the heat wasn’t quite as suffocating as it was in Marina’s country.  Still, the flat expanses, marred here and there by furrows and craters that were still obviously the result of human war, even after years of wind wearing them down—it just reminded him of Azadistan.  The town was at least neater and more intact than most in Azadistan.  It was a little bit of a stretch to call it pretty, but it almost was, for someplace so mismatched and rebuilt.

Allelujah didn’t want to feel like a stranger critiquing a landscape painting, but he wasn’t sure how else to approach the situation.  He didn’t remember this place at all.  This place might have been his homeland…but his earliest memories were of Quanqiu, and that wasn’t about to change.  To some extent, that pit of an Institute would always feel more like home than here.

Marie seemed to pick up on his discomfort, and gently squeezed his hand.  “It’s pretty.”

Allelujah wasn’t sure how to answer her—but he was saved from having to when Arman came into view, running down the road and panting for breath as he came.

“You’re early!” he exclaimed.

“The flight was off schedule,” Allelujah explained.  “It’s good to see you.”

Arman grinned, and stepped forward, arms spread wide.  He cocked his head to the side as he regarded Allelujah.  “Can I?”

Allelujah nodded, and Arman hugged him.  Allelujah stiffened reflexively—he wasn’t very used to this from people who weren’t Marie—but managed to reciprocate a little, wrapping his arms awkwardly around Arman’s back.

Arman stepped back after a few seconds, grinning, and extended a hand, gesturing to the landscape.

“So, what do you think?  I like this place well enough, but honestly, our parents probably would’ve hated it,” he said.

“Huh?” Allelujah asked.  “We’re…from here, right?”

“Allelujah, this country is gigantic,” Arman said, a laugh in his tone.  “Mom and Dad both lived their whole lives farther north, where it never got this warm.  We’d need jackets, if we visited now.”

“Could we?” Allelujah asked, surprising himself.

Arman gave him a searching look.  “Not _right_ now,” he said.  “But, if you want to go before you leave…maybe we can figure something out. I’m sure Samal will be willing to help, if I approach it the right way…” 

Allelujah smiled at him.  “Thanks.”

Going back there wouldn’t bring back any memories—there was never going to be any magical flash of recognition.  At some level, Allelujah knew that.  But bringing Arman and Samal along, and having thier stories to sketch out the edges of a town that didn’t exist in the same way it once had anymore…it was as close as he was going to get.

Kazakhstan still didn’t really feel like his home.  But Arman was his brother, Samal was his aunt, and Kazakhstan was _their_ home _._ That was good enough, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Bata” is the Kazakh word for traditional blessings, which are given on occasions such as births, marriages, and when someone sets out on a long journey. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, leaving kudos, and bookmarking/favoriting. Writing’s more fun when it’s not in a vacuum.
> 
> As a final note, if anyone wants to use the OCs or the backstory elements I came up with in this fic for their fics/RP/various other fanworks, please credit me, but otherwise feel free to go for it! I'd really love it if you sent me a link to whatever you make, too.
> 
> I’m still on tumblr as [ninthfeather](http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com), and stuff about the story is still under the tag [what became of his ancestry](https://www.tumblr.com/search/what+became+of+his+ancestry)—including [some stuff about my process in writing the fic](http://ninthfeather.tumblr.com/post/140126179075/so-whenhow-did-you-get-the-idea-to-write-what). I might eventually put together a list of sources I used for the fic there too, particularly if people seem interested in it.


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